The morn­ing, the bright and the beau­ti­ful morn­ing,
Is up, and the sun­shine is all on the wing;
With its fresh flush of glad­ness
The land­scape adorn­ing,
A glad­ness which no­thing but morn­ing can bring.

The earth is awak­ing, the sky and the ocean,
The ri­ver and for­est, the mount­ain and plain;
The city is stir­ring
Its liv­ing com­mo­tion,
The pulse of the world is re­viv­ing again.

And we too awake, for our hea­ven­ly Fa­ther,
Who soothed us so gent­ly to sleep on His breast,
And made the soft still­ness
Of ev­en­ing to ga­ther
Around us, now calls us again from our rest.

O now let us haste to our hea­ven­ly Fa­ther,
And ere the fair skies of life’s dawn­ing be dim,
Let us come with glad hearts,
Let us come all to­ge­ther,
And the morn of our youth let us hal­low to Him.