What secret hand at morning light, <br />By stealth unseals mine eye, <br />Draws back the curtain of the night, <br />And opens earth and sky? <br /> <br />'Tis Thine, my God - the same that kept <br />My resting hours from harm; <br />No ill came nigh me, for I slept <br />Beneath th' Almighty's arm. <br /> <br />'Tis Thine - my daily bread that brings, <br />Like manna scatter'd round, <br />And clothes me, as the lily springs <br />In beauty from the ground. <br /> <br />This is the hand that shaped my frame, <br />And gave me pulse to beat; <br />That bears me oft through flood and flame, <br />Through tempest, cold, and heat. <br /> <br />In death's dark valley though I stray, <br />'Twould there my steps attend; <br />Guide with the staff my lonely way, <br />And with the rod defend. <br /> <br />May that dear hand uphold me still, <br />Through life's uncertain race, <br />To bring me to Thine holy hill, <br />And to Thy dwelling-place.<br /><br />James Montgomery<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-thoughts-2/
