Before the rosy dawn of day, To Thee, my God, I'll sing; Awake my soft and tuneful lyre Awake each charming string. Awake, and let thy flowing strains Guide through the midnight air, While high amidst the silent orbs The silver moon rolls clear. Awake, ye saints and raise your eyes, And raise your voices high; Awake, and praise that sov'reign love That shows salvation nigh.