On lands and seas, on fields and woods, And cottage roofs and ancient spires, O Morn! thy gaze creative broods, While Night retires. Aloft, the mountain ridges beam By valleys dank, and river's brim, Through corn-clad fields and wizard groves, O'er dazzling tracks and hollows dim, One spirit roves. The broad-helmed oak-tree's endless growth, A joy from hidden paradise Is rippling down the shiny brooks, With beauty like the gleams of eyes In tenderest looks. Where'er the vision's boundaries glance, Inhales the hour. MORNING HYMN OF A HERMIT. Not sands, and rocks, and seas immense, The fly his jocund round inweaves, In Man, O Morn! a loftier good, Which metes the whole. With healthful pulse, and tranquil fire, To thousand tasks of fruitful hope, From earth, and earthly toil and strife, 3 Such grace from thee, O God! be ours, To Man is given one primal star; One day-spring's beam has dawned below. From Thine our inmost glories are, With Thine we glow. Like earth, awake, and warm and bright MORNING THOUGHTS. MARY HOWITT. THE summer sun is shining The dew upon each grassy blade, MORNING THOUGHTS. From giant trees, strong branched, I think of angel voices When the birds' songs I hear; I think of that great river That from the throne flows free, Of weary pilgrims on its brink, Who, thirsting, have come down to drink; Of that unfailing stream I think When earthly streams I see. I think of pain and dying, As that which is but naught, When glorious morning, warm and bright, With all its voices of delight, From the chill darkness of the night, Like a new life, is brought. 1* 5 I think of human sorrow But as of clouds that brood THE WANDERER'S ADORATION. FROM THE EXCURSION."-WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. How beautiful this dome of sky, And the vast hills in fluctuation fixed At Thy command, how awful! Shall the Soul, Even less than these? Be mute who will, who can, Reared for thy presence: therefore am I bound |