Meditações - hino da manhã

MORNING HYMN.

O GOLDEN Sun, whose ray
My path illumineth:
Light of the circling day.
Whose night is birth and death:

That dost not stint the prime
Of wise and strong, nor stay
The changeful ordering time,
That brings their sure decay.

Though thou, the central sphere,
Dost seem to turn around
Thy creature world, and near
As father fond art found;

Thereon, as from above
To shine, and make rejoice
With beauty, life, and love,
The garden of thy choice.

To dress the jocund Spring
With bounteous promise gay
Of hotter months, that bring
The full perfected day;

To touch with richest gold
The ripe fruit, ere it fall ;
And smile through cloud and cold
"On Winter's funeral.

Nt)w with resplendent flood
Gladden my waking eyes,
And stir my slothful blood
To joyous enterprise.

Arise, arise, as when
At first God said Light be !
That He might make us men
With eyes His light to see.

Scatter the clouds that hide
The face of heaven, and show
Where sweet Peace doth abide,
Where Truth and Beauty grow.

Awaken, cheer, adorn.
Invite, inspire, assure
The joys that praise thy mom,
The toil thy noons mature:

And soothe the eve of day,
That darkens back to death ;
golden Sun, whose ray
Our path ilumineth !

I HAVE loved flowers that fade.
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents:

A honeymoon delight, —
A joy of love at sights
That ages in an hour: —
My song be like a flower !

I have loved airs, that die
Before their charm is writ
Along a liquid sky
Trembling to welcome it.
Notes, that with pulse of fire
Proclaim the spirit's desire,
Then die, and are nowhere: —
My song be like an air!

Die, song, die like a breath.
And wither as a bloom :
Fear not a flowery death,
Dread not an empty tomb!
Fly with delight, fly hence !
Twas thine love's tender sense
To feast, now on thy bier
Beauty shall shed a tear.

Robert Bridges