IN THE MORNING.
’Twas morn,
And day was born.
Bright in the west the stars still burned,
But ever, as the great earth turned,
The eastern mountain-tops grew dark
Against the rosy heaven—and hark!
A single note from flute-toned thrush
Drops downward through the twilight hush;
Half praise, half prayer, I heard the song:
“Oh, sweet, sweet,
Oh, life is sweet, and joy is long!”
The sun
Touched one by one
The firs along the distant crest,—
A silent host, with lance at rest;
Flashed all the world with jewels rare,
Quivered with joy the maiden-hair
Beside the brook that downward sprang
And rippling o’er its mosses, sang
With silvery laugh the same glad song:
“Oh, sweet, sweet,
Oh, life is sweet, and joy is long!”
When lo!
Swift, to and fro,
A sombre shadow crossed its path,
Deep thunders rolled in awful wrath,
The thrush beneath the fir-trees crept,
The maiden-hair bowed low and wept;
The heavens were black, the earth was gray
The hills all blanched in the spectral day,—
The night-wind rose, and wailed this song:
“Oh, long, long,
Oh, joy is fleeting, life so long!”
Behold,
A shaft of gold
Shot through the wrack of cloud and storm,
The heart of heaven beat quick and warm;
From bird and stream, with myriad tongue,
The glad day carolled, laughed, and sung.
’Twas morning still! Her tear-drops bright
The maiden-hair raised to the light;
I heard, half prayer, half praise, the song:
“Oh, sweet, sweet,
Oh, life is sweet, and joy is long!”