When the morn, lighted soft, breaks,

Whence the Morn, lighted soft,
Breaks with mellowed face,
Of You calling for a birth,
How can i hold back mirth?

So, me looks up,
The sky Yours where paints colors
Yellowish pale like a tale
Of hope where unfurls a sail,

And this morn, such blessed
Cool breeze by music dressed,
Upon my wandering soul, drops
Light of your face, mellowed soft,

And by that Holy revelation,
Eyes mine reach for goodness,
Of Your sky so beautifully spread wide,
Of Your cape of Good Hope, your art, your finesse...


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