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Ashlar Home > Poems > Rob Morris > Hours of Praise

Hours of Praise

By Rob Morris

Morn, the morn, sweet morn is springing
In the East his sign appears
Dews, and songs, and fragrance flinging
Down the new robe nature wears.
Forth from slumber, forth and meet him!
Who so dead to love and light?
Forth, and as you stand to greet him,
Praise to HIm who giveth night.

Noon, the noon, high noon is glowing
In the South rich glories burn
Beams intense from Heaven are flowing
Mortal eye must droop and turn.
Forth and meet him! while the chorus
Of the groves is nowhere heard,
Kneel to Him who bendeth o'er us
Praise with heart and willing word.

Eve, the eve, still eve is weeping
In the West she dies away
Every winged one is sleeping
They've no life but open day.
Forth and meet her! lo, she lends us
Thrice ten thousand brilliants high!
Glory to His name who sends us
Such night jewels from the sky.

Death, pale death, to all is certain
From the grave his voice comes up
Fearless, raise my gloomy curtain
Find within eternal hope
Forth and meet Him, ye whose duty
To the Lord Of Life is given
He will clothe death's garb with beauty
He will give a path to Heaven.
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