The Moon has set ; above the East
Black Night has turned to grey, And Dawn, with rosy fingers, comes To pluck the veil away.
Faint breezes kiss the waking bird
And stir the ripening grain, The silent wheels of God revolve And bring the Sun again.
The glory growsaon cloud and height,
The flashing sunbeams play ; The Lord of Nature, crimson robed, Flings wide the Gates of Day.