MORNING SONG Nu rinder Solen op
George Borrow translation
From Eastern quarters now The sun’s up-wandering, His rays on the rock’s brow And hill’s side squandering. Be glad, my soul! and sing amidst thy pleasure, Fly from the house of dust, Up with thy thanks, and trust To heaven’s azure!
O, countless as the grains Of sand so tiny, Measureless as the main’s Deep waters briny, God’s mercy is, which He upon me showereth. Each morning in my shell, A grace immeasurable To me down-poureth.
Thou best dost understand, Lord God! my needing; And placed is in Thy hand My fortune’s speeding, And Thou foresee’st what is for me most fitting. Be still, then, O my soul! To manage in the whole Thy God permitting.
May fruit the land array, And corn for eating! May truth e’er make its way, With justice meeting! Give thou to me my share with every other, ’Till down my staff I lay, And from this world away Wend to another!