Dawn
by F. P. Carrigan
Look up to where the hills
are flushed
With dawn's red pencilings
Look up to where an angel goes
On silver-flashing wings;
Look up to where the lark of morn
Is soaring whilst he sings.
Look up! the clouds of yesterday
Have vanished with the night;
Like some sweet dream that
follows toil
The present greets the sight;
Look up! the dawn of dawns has come
In majesty and might.
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