Summer Morning in the Country, A

How brightly on the hill-side sleeps
    The sunlight with its quickening rays—
The verdant hills that crown the steeps
    Grow greener in its shimering blaze—
While all the air that round us floats 
    With subtil[sic] wing, breathes only life;
And, ringing with a thousand notes,
    The woods with song are rife!

Why, this is Nature's holiday!
    She puts her gayest mantle on—
And, sparkling o’er their pebbly way,
    With gladder shout the brooklets run!
The birds and breezes seem to give 
    A sweeter cadence to their song—
A brighter life the insects live
    That float in light along.

'The cattle on a thousand hills,'
    The fleecy flocks that dot the vale,
All joy alike in life, that fills 
    The air, and breathes in every gale!
And who that has a heart and eye
    To feel the bliss and drink it in,
But pants, for scenes like these, to fly
    The city's smoke and din—

A sweet companionship to hold
    With Nature in her forest bowers,
And learn the gentle lessons told
    By singing-birds and opening flowers!
Nor do they err who love her lore—
    Though books have power to stir my heart,
Yet Nature’s varied page can more
    Of rapturous joy impart!

No selfish joy—if duty calls,
    Not sullenly I turn from these—
Though dear the clash of waterfalls,
    The wind's low voice among the trees,—
Birds, flowers, and flocks—for God hath taught
    —Oh, keep, my heart, the lesson still!
His soul alone with bliss in fraught, 
    Who heeds the FATHER’S will!