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178 And birds and bells, in garden, tree, and tower, Bow to the bidding of the wakening hour, And breathe, the Hamlet’s happy homes among Morn’s fragrant music from their lips of Song. Within the loveliest of wayside bowers, The summer home of loveliest leaves and flowers, Cradled on rose-leaves, curtained round with vines, And canopied by branches of a tree Whose buds and blossoms charm the wandering bee, In deep and dreaming sleep the youth reclines. Sunbeams, wind-cooled, their fond caressing glow, Twine, with leaf-shadows, the green roof below, In wedded love-clasp of sweet shade and light, The unwoven harmony of the dark and bright, And blend within, around it, and above, Their balm, their bloom, their beauty, and their joy, Their watching—sleepless as the brooding dove, Their bounty—boundless as the fairy love Of Queen Titania for her Henchman Boy.

The doors are open in the house of prayer, The morning worshippers are kneeling there In supplicating harmony, beneath The intoning organ’s incense-bearing breath,