The Boon

At break of day when shadows fly And still the earth is white with dew, When light soft mists on hillside lie And, stirring purple meadows thro’, The morning wind moves like a sigh, Oh I awake then quietly! Earth’s sullied things draw never nigh When thus the day from God is new And from a dim far place on high On the chaste line of day and night Where holy thoughts the souls imbue Who wake, praise God, keep pure, walk right A boon comes ... is’t not blest that I Walk thus thro’ fields of God with you At break of day when shadows fly?