Page:Poems of home and country (IA poemsofhomecount01smit).pdf/367

 Wild from a thousaud warbling throats Melodious music rings; Matin and vesper swells and floats,— Nature's sweet offerings.

Each bird that soars, each bud that breaks In beauty from its cell, Tuneful, or still, one accent wakes,— "God has done all things well."

Let tree and wood, let vale and hill, Swell the sweet, grateful song, And wave, and rock, and rippling rill, The echoing strain prolong.

OU sweet little cricket, Amid the night dew, While the moon shines so brightly, I'll listen to you. I love your dull chirping, Your shrill monotone; You soothe, with your music, This bosom so lone.

Your voice, like the breezes That mournfully play, When the red leaves of autumn Look gaudy and gay, Tells of joys now departed, No more to return, Of summer hopes blasted, Of fair flowers torn.