To thee, in youth’s bright morning,
Father of all, we pray,
While thought and fancy dawning,
Lead on the rising day;
To thee, in life’s last even,
We’ll tune our feeble breath,
Hear all our sins forgiven,
And softly sleep in death.

When from death’s sleep we waken,
No fears shall us surprise;
All earthly things forsaken,
What joy shall meet our eyes!
With rapture then increasing,
Forever we’ll rejoice,
And praises never ceasing
Shall wake each tuneful voice.

Recordings 1 2