Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/Morning Prayer
MORNING PRAYER.
GIVER of light! who point'st the glorious sun
His destin'd way, and callest every star
Forth by its name, and causest day and night
To know their order, and to speak thy praise;
All powerful God! to whom creation sings
Her morning matins, let my mingling prayer
Rise with the chorus, while the trembling dawn
Dispels the shadows, and the damps of night.
Go forth, my soul, on high devotion's wing,
And bear thy first vows to thy Maker's ear,
E'er nature wakes, or the rejoicing sun
Looks from his chamber on the rising morn.
O thou! whose throne is in the circling Heavens,
Where the veil'd seraphs stand; thou wilt not scorn
The incense of the heart, for thou dost know
My frame, and thou rememberest I am dust.
But yet thine hand did mould this mass of clay,
And thy breath quicken it: nor should I blush
To lift my face to thee, to speak thy name,
And call thee Father, had not sin so stain'd,
Marr'd, and defac'd thy work. Still be my God,
Bend to my prayers, and send thy Spirit forth
To heal, and to enlighten, and to save.
Oh, as a parent guides and guards a child,
Oft wandering, yet belov'd, so guide thou me
This day. From inward foes, and hidden ills,
From snares of youth, from treachery of man,
Fruitless resolves, and fancies roving wild,
From vanity, and pride, and dark deceit,
Or whatsoever else might wake the sting
Of conscience, wound another's peace, or break
Thy holy law, save me this day, O God:
And let a warning voice say to my soul,
The pure and watchful eyes of the High Judge
Are on thy ways, and still a viewless pen
Moves, never weary, to record thy words,
Thy deeds, and hidden motives, on a page,
Not perishable, which the flame that burns
The scorch'd and shrinking Heavens, shall so unfold,
That every eye may read. O God, thou know'st
All my temptations, my adversities,
My weaknesses and errors; suit thy gifts
Unto my needs, and not to my deserts
Imperfect. But so guide me on this earth,
That when I leave it, I may see thy face
In peace, and sin no more. So shall my prayer
Rise ceaseless to thee; and my soul shall rest
Upon thine arm of love, through every scene
Of this day's good or ill, or life or death.
And let my song of praise, O mighty God,
Rise with acceptance from this house of clay,
This earthly tenement, soon rent and broke:
And let me on the cold, dark flood of death
Be joyful in thee: let me wake the harp
Of seraph rapture, hymning to the praise
Of Him who was, and is, and is to come,
When time shall be no more, and death shall die;
And ages after ages rolling on,
Fill not the circle of Eternity.