A MORNING PRAYER
A light spreads over meadows, fields and lane,
Streams brightly shine through the fogs of fading night,
As in a castle lit by fables’ light again
In the distance windows burn with a crimson light
Of the newly risen sun’s reflected flame . . .
Light, fire, beauty, bliss delight and fame
I humbly bow before your shining might . . .
How ’neath your spell all wakes to live, rejoice.
How with delight shines all that fore me lies.
And sparkling dew that shines on flowers choice
Unwittingly now rises into my eyes.
Even the aged woman's furrows gleam
As she greets me, passing by, as in a dream
“Praised be the Lord.” . . Amen, answers my voice.
“Praised be the Lord” . . . We both praise Him on high.
The woman, hobbling yonder to the shrine.
Where He will be revealed to her on nigh
Where gleam the jewelled altar cloth, and sacred candles shine
And I who worship Him, sublime and stern
Among the meadows green, where only burn
The dew’s bright jewels, that on the flowers lie.
Be praised . . Be worshipped . . How else can we express
In human speech the soul’s outpouring thought,
That emanates from the horizon’s light excess
The morning air, with the scent of meadows fraught,
The blooming merigolds that paint the waters gold,
The songs of nightingales whose straining throats unfold
A greeting to the sun, while they soar to heights unsought.
How could one show his gratitude unbound
To the Unknown Might and Will, that watched my dreams
Through the night of many a frightening scene and sound,
Then permitted me to see daylight’s early beams
And to breathe again upon the break of day,
All the beauty of a sunlit morn in May,
And to find delight in life’s ever changing schemes . .
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