New every morning is the sun

Friday ride: As I pedaled along this morning at sunup, I thought I was singing the first line of a hymn remembered from long ago. Sort of—I had mashed together two hymns, one by John Keble and the other by Thomas Ken, to make a cringeworthy truism. It has always struck me as odd that when I sing in my head I have perfect pitch and mellifluous delivery and it's only when I sing out loud that it sounds abominable. Ah, you don't know what you're missing!

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