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 a moment,
Life's trials and it's 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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem