_At Lauds._

’Tis sweet to wake before the dawn, When all the cocks are crowing, And from my window on the lawn, To watch the veil of night withdrawn, And feel the fresh wind blowing.

The murmur of the falls I hear, Its night-long vigil keeping; And softly now, as if in fear To rouse their neighbours slumbering near, The trees wake from their sleeping.

Dear Lord, such wondrous thoughts of Thee My raptured soul are filling, That, like a bird upon the tree, With sweet yet wordless minstrelsy My inmost heart is thrilling.