tr., John Brownlie

8,5,8,5

I

From the hills the light is streaming,

Hail, the gladsome morn!

Earth with busy life is teeming,

For the day is born.

II

Dawn, Thou Light of lights, undying

On a fairer day,

All creation beautifying

With Thy glorious ray.

III

Weary eyes the hills are scanning

For the early gleam;

Souls, Thy long delay unmanning,

Sleep, and idly dream.

IV

Ah, my soul, be up and doing,

Life will soon be done,

Night, the day is close pursuing

To the setting sun.

V

And the day of God shall waken

To the soul with fear,

If, the call of life forsaken,

We are slumbering here.

VI

From the hills the light is streaming,

Hail the gladsome morn!

And the light of God is beaming, --

This, His day, is born.