Writers 
Sunlight slips through the windowpane,
gold fingers stirring the dark to wake—
oh, morning has come again.
The night, with all its heavy chains,
dissolves like mist on a quiet lake.
Sunlight slips through the windowpane.
My heart leaps like a bird set free,
my spirit dances, unrestrained.
Is this you, Happiness,
knocking soft upon my chest?
A warmth that spreads through every vein,
a whispered answer to my quest.
Yes, it is you, I do confess.
The shadows flee across the floor,
and every doubt I held before
is scattered by this gentle ray.
I watch the world begin to pour
its colors on a brand new day.
The coffee's scent, the distant door,
the simple truth that I am blessed—
it all conspires to softly say:
Yes, it is you.
Joy always comes with the morning light.
It finds the cracks within the night
and fills them up with hope and grace.
It paints a smile upon my face
and makes the heaviest burden light.
I hold this feeling, warm and bright,
a treasure that I will not chase.
It is a gift, a welcome sight.
So let the sun its fingers run
across the world, and I'll begun
to live again, to love, to be
a part of this sweet harmony.
For every day, when dark is done,
I'll know the race is truly won.
I'll feel the peace, I'll see the sign:
Yes, it is you.
Happiness, you are the sun
that rises when the night is through.
You are the race that's always run,
the old made new, the true, the true.
And with each dawn, I'll sing this song,
where all my heart's desires belong.
I'll greet the day, and I will find
you are the morning's state of mind.
Yes, it is you.
Joy always comes with the morning light.
