Morn on the waters, and purple and bright Bursts on the billows the flushing of light O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on.
A little while the rose, And after that the thorn; An hour of dewy morn, And then the glamour goes. Ah, love in beauty born, A little while the rose!
How shall we celebrate the day,When God appeared in mortal clay,The mark of worldly scorn;When the Archangel's heavenly Lays,Attempted the Redeemer's Praise,And hail'd Salvation's Morn!
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor night of waking.
For I remember it is Easter morn, And life and love and peace are all new born.
Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
My song is ya girlfriend's wakin up ringer. . . or alarm or whateva. She'll be here at 6 in the morn if I let her
I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn.
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth, And let thy holy feet visit our clime. Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
There was never a night that had no morn.
If we fail to feed the needy, we do not have God's love, no matter what we say. Regardless of what we do or say at 11am in a Sunday morn, affluent people who neglect the poor are not the people of God.
I see ya waiting for the bus early in the morn', brick house with a face like Lena Horne.
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
The bright incarnate spirit of the Morn.
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth, Contagious blastments are are most imminent.
The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.
When on a summer's morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies. To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or any bird in song; And common leaves that hum all day Without a throat or tongue. And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, Back in my room alone, My heart has many a sweet bird's song - And one that's all my own.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn
Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.
