bo góry mogą ustąpić i pagórki się zachwiać...

owczarskie krajobrazy...
pasterskie klimaty...


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 Word.


Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven.
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass.
Praise for the sweetnes of the wet garden,
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass.


Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning.
Born of the one light Eden saw play.
Praise with elation, praise every morning;
God's recreation of the new day.


Aureola i harfa to nie to, o czym śnię,
Ja o morza rozkołys i wiatr modlę się.
Stare pudło wyciągnę, zagram coś w cichą noc,
A wiatr w takielunku zaśpiewa swój song...
Tylko wezmę mój sztormiak i sweter,
Ostatni raz spojrzę na pirs.
Spotkamy się wszyscy..... tam, w Fiddler's Green...

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?