HAIL, SMILING MORN

Hail, smiling morn, smiling morn,
That tips the hills with gold,
that tips the hills with gold,
At whose rosy fingers open wide the gates of day.
All the bright face of nature doth unfold, (x 2)
At whose bright presence,
Darkness flies away, flies away, flies away
Darkness flies away, Darkness flies away, 
At whose bright presence,
Darkness flies away.
 Hail (x 8)

Reginald Spofforth (1810)