The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore

book iv. chap. viii.

LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY BREEZE.

(AIR. BEETHOVEN.)

Like morning, when her early breeze Breaks up the surface of the seas, That, in those furrows, dark with night, Her hand may sow the seeds of light--

Thy Grace can send its breathings o'er The Spirit, dark and lost before, And, freshening all its depths, prepare For Truth divine to ent...