Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/86



is a wakening on the mighty hills, A kindling with the spirit of the morn! Bright gleams are scatter'd from the thousand rills, And a soft visionary hue is born On the young foliage, worn By all the imbosom'd woods—a silvery green, Made up of spring and dew, harmoniously serene.

And lo! where floating through a glory, sings The lark, alone amidst a crystal sky! Lo! where the darkness of his buoyant wings, Against a soft and rosy cloud on high, Trembles with melody!