‘Till the morning sun strikes the trees
Farthest from its reaching gaze
I’ll wait upon you at your feet
With silent listening before the day,
For when you speak and tell me where
To place my hand and turn my plow
I will obey my king and master
With haste within the what you allow.
What grace you have wrought on me
That I, amidst all of your domain,
Walk, written on my soul, in chorus
With all creation calling out, your glorious and mighty name
