Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/487

 Every step we take, more nigh Mounts the spirit to the sky. Sounds of life are waxing low As we high and higher go, And a deeper silence given For choice communing with heaven; On this eminence awhile Rest we from our vigorous toil: Forth our eyes, mind's scouts that be, Cull fresh food for fantasy! Like a map, beneath these skies, Fair the summer landscape lies— Sea, and sand, and brook, and tree, Meadow broad, and sheltered lea, Shade and sunshine intermarried, All deliciously varied: Goodly fields of bladed corn, Pastures green, where neatherd's horn Bloweth through the livelong day, Many a rudely jocund lay: There be rows of waving trees, Hymning saintliest homilies To the weary passer by, Till his heart mount to his eye, And his tingling feelings glow With deep love for all below,