AWAKE, awake, dull heart, and sing

The praises of thy Lord and King,

Who gives the new day and the sun,

Hope, health, and every pleasant thing.

He scatters all the shades of night,

Out of the darkness builds the light,

And on man’s ignorance and wrong

Founds his eternal law of right.

If he one hour withdrew his care

The Earth would stagger in blind air,

And laughter would give place to wail,

And hope to horror, everywhere.

Angels and saints, the white-robed choir,

Praise God all day, and never tire,

And weaker voices from below

May join and swell the chorus higher.

For praise is privilege there as here,

And each in his own place and sphere,

Angel or man, or high or low,

May take his share and count it dear.

Then wake, my heart, remembering this,

That truest praise true service is,

And take thy new day from God’s hands,

And work therein for him and his.