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It’s the glory of the rising sun
To wake the world when night is done.
It’s the freshness of the morning dew
Glittering bright with a radiant hue.
It’s the cooing of the morning dove
Caressing his mate with strains of love.
It’s the laughter of the pebbly brook
Stretching far through quiet woodland nook.
It’s the stirring of the placid breeze
Sweeping sweetly through the summer leaves.
It’s the lofty hills and mountain peaks
The quiet valleys and hidden creeks.
It’s the roses spread upon the gate,
Blooming sweet ‘till evening time is late.
It’s the blushing hues of twilight sky,
Spreading rosy curtains far and nigh.
It’s the chatter of the evening’s frogs,
Hidden near the darkling willow bogs.
It’s the sweetness of the moonbeams,
Casting silver rays on mur’ming streams.
It’s the knowledge that my Father’s hand
Has wrought these wonders in sea and land.
It’s delighting in these gifts of love
Sustained each day by His hand above.
This is peace; that quiet, hidden rest
Knowing from whose hand I am thus blest.
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