Translation:The Morning Hymn

by Mikhail Lomonosov

    And now the beauteous globe of light
Darts its rays to cheer the earth,
And God's works stand forth distinct and clear;
Be glad, my soul, with joyous praise,
And, filled with wonder at its countless beams,
Confess how great is its Divine Creator.

    Were it but given to mortal man
Thus high to soar,
And with his feeble sight to gaze
Long and close on its dazzling glories,
Then and only then, should all the realms
Of that ever-burning ocean be revealed.

    There fiery billows raging strive,
But ever in vain, to reach some confine;
There flaming whirlwinds writhe
In bootless wrestling through long ages;
There rocks, like water seethe,
And burning ruins in torrents fall.

    These mighty globes of fire
Are in Thy sight but as a spark.
How numerous are the lustrous lamps
Lighted by Thee, their Sovereign Creator,
To illumine us in our daily work—
The work Thou hast ordained for us.

    The fields, hills, seas, and woods
Throw off the darkness of the night,
And disclose to our enraptured gaze
The fresh-created beauty of the morn,
As all the earth declares
The greatness of Thy hand Divine.

    The light of day shines only
On the outward surface of the earth ;
But Thine eye searches to the depths within,
And there is no limit to its ken ;
In the light of Thine eye
Is the source of joy to every creature.

    Creator, into my darkened soul
Shed the rays of Thy pure wisdom;
And what is pleasing in Thy sight
Make to grow and Sourish within me;
And ever let Thy lowly creature
Praise Thee, his immortal King.