138. Lauds—Saturday
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{241}
Aurora jam spargit polum. |
THE dawn is sprinkled o'er the sky, |
| The day steals
softly on; |
| Its darts are scatter'd far and nigh, |
| And all that fraudful is, shall fly |
| Before the
brightening sun; |
| Spectres of ill, that stalk at will, |
| And forms of guilt
that fright, |
| And hideous sin, that ventures in |
| Under the cloak of
night. |
And of our crimes the tale complete, |
| Which bows us in
Thy sight, |
| Up to the latest, they shall fleet, |
| Out-told by our full numbers sweet, |
| And melted by the
light. {242} |
To Father, Son, and Spirit, One, |
| Whom we adore and
love, |
| Be given all praise, now and always, |
| Here as in Heaven
above. |