The slow founts of dawn,
On a cool winters day.
Cast but one momentous shadow,
Where the new fawn once lay.

Pausing silently in the moment,
Sensing fresh dew on the sod.
Delight in the advent,
And the glory of God.

That still in the early,
And the middle of morn.
Forget for one moment,
Life's trials and its scorn.

So tell me of virtue,
Sweet family and home.
Tis' my God of Thee,
Give me this moment alone.

Morning shall soon pass,
As I linger and yearn.
Praying my God of Thee,
For this moment's return.

(Authors First Poem)