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| HOW calm comes on this holy day! | |
| Morning unfolds the eastern sky, | |
| And upward takes her lofty way, | |
| Triumphant to her throne on high. | |
| Earth glorious wakes, as o’er her breast | 5 |
| The morning flings her rosy ray, | |
| And, blushing from her dreamless rest, | |
| Unveils her to the gaze of day; | |
| So still the scene, each wakeful sound | |
| Seems hallow’d music breathing round. | 10 |
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| The night-wind to their mountain caves, | |
| The morning mists to heaven’s blue steep, | |
| And to their ocean depths the waves | |
| Are gone, their holy rest to keep. | |
| ’T is tranquil all—around—above— | 15 |
| The forests far, which bound the scene, | |
| Are peaceful as their Maker’s love, | |
| Like hills of everlasting green; | |
| And clouds like earthly barriers stand, | |
| Or bulwarks of some viewless land. | 20 |
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| Each tree, that lifts its arms in air, | |
| Or hangs its pensive head from high, | |
| Seems bending at its morning prayer, | |
| Or whispering with the hours gone by. | |
| This holy morning, Lord, is thine— | 25 |
| Let silence sanctify thy praise, | |
| Let heaven and earth in love combine | |
| And morning stars their music raise;— | |
| For ’t is the day—joy—joy—ye dead, | |
| When death and hell were captive led. | 30 |
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