Before the rosy dawn of day,
To Thee, my God, I’ll sing;
Awake my soft and tuneful lyre
Awake each charming string.
Awake, and let thy flowing strains
Guide thru the midnight air,
While high amidst the silent orbs
The silver moon rolls clear.
Awake, ye saints and raise your eyes,
And raise your voices high;
Awake, and praise that sov’reign love
That shows salvation nigh.