Scripture Verse

He wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen like one being taught. Isaiah 50:4


Franz J. Haydn (1732–1809)

Words: Fried­rich R. L. von Can­itz, 1700 (Seele du musst mun­ter wer­den). Trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to Eng­lish by Hen­ry J. Buck­oll, 1836 or 1838. Tho­mas Arnold (1795–1842) is al­so said to have pro­duced a trans­la­tion in 1836.

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.

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

Alternate Tunes:


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.