He wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen like one being taught.@Isaiah 50:4
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Franz J. Haydn (1732–1809)

Fried­rich R. L. von Can­itz, 1700 (Seele du musst mun­ter wer­den). Trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to Eng­lish by Hen­ry J. Buck­oll, 1838.

Cath­er­ine Wink­worth trans­lat­ed von Canitz’ lyr­ics as Come My Soul, Awake, ’Tis Morn­ing, in her Ly­ra Ger­man­i­ca, 1855. An­oth­er trans­la­tion ap­peared in the Bri­tish Mag­a­zine, Ju­ly 1838.

Hay­dn ar­ranged from Franz J. Hay­dn, 1791 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Dr. Tho­mas Ar­nold said of von Can­itz:

Some may know the sto­ry of that Ger­man no­ble­man whose life had been dis­tin­guished alike by gen­i­us and world­ly dis­tinc­tion, and by Chris­tian ho­li­ness; and who, in the last morn­ing of his life, when the dawn broke in­to his sick cham­ber, prayed that he might be sup­port­ed to the win­dow, and might look once again up­on the ris­ing sun. Af­ter look­ing stea­di­ly at it for some time, he cried out, Oh! if the ap­pear­ance of this earth­ly and cre­at­ed thing is so beau­ti­ful and quick­en­ing, how much more shall I be en­rap­tured at the sight of the un­speak­a­ble glo­ry of the Cre­at­or Him­self. That was the feel­ing of a man whose sense of earth­ly beau­ty had all the keen­ness of a po­et’s en­thu­si­asm, but who, with­al, had in his great­est health and vi­gour pre­served the con­scious­ness that his life was hid with Christ in God; that the things seen, how beau­ti­ful so­ev­er, were as noth­ing to the things which are not seen.

Come, my soul, thou must be waking;
Now is breaking over the earth another day;
Come to Him who made this splendor;
See thou render all thy feeble powers can pay.

Thou, too, hail the light returning
Ready burning be the incense of thy powers;
For the night is safely ended,
God hath tended with His care thy helpless hours.

Pray that He may prosper ever
Each endeavor when thine aim is good and true;
But that He may ever thwart thee,
And convert thee, when thou evil wouldst pursue.

Think that He thy ways beholdeth;
He unfoldeth every fault that lurks within;
He the hidden shame glossed over
Can discover, and discern each deed of sin.

Mayest thou on life’s last morrow,
Free from sorrow, pass away in slumber sweet:
And, released from death’s dark sadness,
Rise in gladness that far brighter sun to greet.

Only God’s free gifts abuse not,
Light refuse not, but His Spirit’s voice obey;
Thou with Him shalt dwell, beholding
Light enfolding all things in unclouded day.