Morning has broken - Like the first morning, Blackbird has spoken - Like the first bird. Praise for the singing ! Praise for the morning ! Praise for them, Springing - fresh from the Lord !

In the gloom of whiteness,
In the great silence of snow,
A child was sighing 
And bitterly saying; 'Oh,
They have killed a withe bird up there on her nest,
The downs is fluttering from her breast.'
And still it fell through that dusky brightness
On the child crying for the bird of the snow...