Happy birds in echoing bowers,
Waken all their tuneful powers,
And spontaneous music springs
From all animated things,--
Verdant hills,
Tuneful rills,
Joyful greet thy light!
Balmy morning! blessed morning!
How serene,
In thy calm and cloudless dawning
Smiles the scene!
Even man, by care oppressed,
Feels thy gladness thrill his breast,
Hails thee as a source of bliss,
Precious in a world like this,
Gratefully
Blessing thee--
Welcome, morning light!
SONG
Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!
Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!
I'm dying, mother dear!
And shades of ever deepening gloom
Are round, and o'er me here,--
The city's din is in my ear,
Its glitter mocks my eye,--
Oh, take me where the skies are clear.
And the hills are green, to die!
I do not dread the shadowy vale,
The river deep and chill,--
For, leaning on my Saviour's arm,
My soul shall fear no ill,--
But oh, to pass from Earth away
Where skies are blue above,
Where glad birds sing, and streamlets play,
And soft winds breathe of love!
And oh, within these fevered hands,
To clasp my flowers again!
To lay them on my weary breast,
And round my throbbing brain!
Then, feel the South wind o'er me pass
As long ago it swept,
When, 'mid the scented summer grass,
I laid me down and slept!
Oh, ever, in my fevered dreams,
The fountain's play I hear,--
The sighing winds, the rippling streams,
The robin's music clear,--
Old pleasant sounds are in my ear,
Sweet visions meet my eye--
Oh take me, take me, mother dear,
To the summer hills, to die!
THE PLOUGHMAN
Tearing up the stubborn soil,
Trudging, drudging, toiling, moiling,
Hands, and feet, and garments soiling--
Who would grudge the ploughman's toil?
Yet there's lustre in his eye,
Borrowed from yon glowing sky,
And there's meaning in his glances
That bespeak no dreamer's fancies;
For his mind has precious lore
Gleaned from Nature's sacred store.
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