v.1-5 <br />C. M. <br />The morning of a Lord's day. <br /> <br />Early, my God, without delay, <br />I haste to seek thy face; <br />My thirsty spirit faints away <br />Without thy cheering grace. <br /> <br />So pilgrims on the scorching sand, <br />Beneath a burning sky, <br />Long for a cooling stream at hand, <br />And they must drink or die. <br /> <br />I've seen thy glory and thy power <br />Through all thy temple shine; <br />My God, repeat that heav'nly hour, <br />That vision so divine. <br /> <br />Not all the blessings of a feast <br />Can please my soul so well, <br />As when thy richer grace I taste, <br />And in thy presence dwell. <br /> <br />Not life itself, with all her joys, <br />Can my best passions move, <br />Or raise so high my cheerful voice, <br />As thy forgiving love. <br /> <br />Thus till my last expiring day <br />I'll bless my God and King; <br />Thus will I lift my hands to pray, <br />And tune my lips to sing.<br /><br />Isaac Watts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/psalm-63-part-1/
