Before the rosy dawn of day,

To thee, my God, I’ll sing;

Awake, my soft and tuneful lyre!

Awake, each charming string!


Awake! And let thy flowing strain

Glide thro’ the midnight air,

While high amidst her silent orb

The silver moon rolls clear.


While all the glitt’ring starry lamps

Are lighted in the sky,

And set their Maker’s greatness forth

To thy admiring eye:


While watchful angels round the just

As nightly guardians wait,

In lofty strains of grateful praise

Thy spirit elevate.


Awake, my soft and tuneful lyre!

Awake each charming string!

Before the rosy dawn of day,

To thee, my God, I’ll sing.


Thou round the heav’nly arch dost draw

A dark and sable veil,

And all the beauties of the world

From mortal eyes conceal.


Again the sky with golden beams

Thy skilful hands adorn,

And paint, with cheerful splendor gay,

The fair ascending morn.


And as the gloomy night returns,

Our smiling day renews

Thy constant goodness still my soul

With benefits pursues.


For this I’ll midnight vows to thee,

With early incense bring;

And e’er the rosy down of day,

Thy lofty praises sing.

Text: Poems on Several Occasions (London: E. Dudley [and seven others], 1778), pp. 86-87.