A Song of Praise

When the early dawn of morningTints the sky with jewels bright,Painting all the face of NatureWith a calm and holy light;Then let us render,In accents tender,Our praise to God;For He is Life.

When the noon-tide's glorious splendorFalls on mountain, hill, and vale,Dissipating error's darknessWith a light that cannot fail;Come then with singing,Our praises bringingTo God most high;For He is Truth.

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Prison Work in Detroit, Mich.
July 12, 1900
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