Early in the morning--in the morning of life.
Resting while the flowers unfolding to soothe the burning day of
strife.
Fleeting hands lingering nearer, pressing down the folds of my shade.
A heart of gold ye diamond light transparent, to my soul such love
is made.

I must rise and be ascending, while the flowers are in full bloom.
Through the fields be swiftly passing, the fleeting hours of noon.
I shall gather while praising on the lyre, a few wreaths are strewn.
That I shall rest through the evening, for the night shall triumph
soon.

I shall ascend beyond the evening, to a field of light that is shown.
With hearts like gold ye love transparent, before a great white throne.
There again it shall be morning, for he made that day of rest you see.
Calling those fleeting hands come hither; those that love, are loved
by me.

* * * * *