Dewy glades and opening flowers,
Emerald meadows, vernal bowers,
Sun and shade, and bird and bee,
Fount and forest, hill and lea,--
All things beautiful and fair,
His benignant teachers are
Tearing up the stubborn soil,
Trudging, drudging, toiling, moiling,
Hands, and feet, and garments soiling--
Who would grudge the ploughman's toil?
Yet 'tis health and wealth to him,
Strength of nerve, and strength of limb,
Light and fervor in his glances,
Life and beauty in his fancies,
Learned and happy, brave and free,
Who so proud and blest as he?
"HE HATH DONE ALL THINGS WELL."
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO A DEAR FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF
A BELOVED FATHER.
The dawn-light wakes, and brightens to the day,
And the slow sun climbs the far eastern skies,
Then, down the western slopes pursues his way,
Till shadows deepen and the twilight dies;--
And still I muse, and wait, and list in vain
For feet that never, never will return,--
For loving words I may not hear again,
Howe'er with ear attent I wait and yearn.
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