My God, who makes the sun to know

His proper hour to rise;

And, to give light to all below,

Doth send him round the skies:

When from the chambers of the east

His morning race begins,

He never tires, nor stops to rest,

But round the world he shines.

So, like the sun, would I fulfil

The business of the day;

Begin my work betimes, and still

March on my heavenly way.

Give me, O Lord, thy early grace,

Nor let my soul complain

That the young morning of my day

Has all been spent in vain!