The mist of morn that slowly drifts
Across fields and trees at early dawn
It speaks to me in its watery drops
In the mist of time of a morn long gone
In dawning light of breaking hours
The air around was hushed and still
All of nature seemed to hold her breath
Her designer headed to Calvary Hill
Misty dewdrops seemed like the tears of God
Weeping for His beloved who would taste of death
Quiet the morn of utter stillness
As the mist of wetness came from its breath
When the rising sun would evaporate the vapour
And drink the tears of the morning dry
A tree would stand on a lonely hillside
And on its wood a man would cry
Forgive them Father for they know not what they do
And again; It is finished! as He bowed His head
Then slumped the frame of His body broken
And on the tree hung the Saviour dead
O misty morn that seems to weep
Countless tears that mingle with my own
Your quietness allows me to think of my Saviour
As I see in my mind that tree alone
Where life for life was freely given
Pardon from Him I can insist
And all His love, compassion and forgiveness
Will enclose me in like the morning mist
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