 | The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road |  |
DAWN IN THE HILLS.
Morn, like a hallelujah, storms the sky;
The colors vie
With one another—now in crimson dye,
And now in golden—as if saints went by
In clouds of glory with a mighty cry,
The mists, like censer smoke, far-circling, fly.
The colors vie
With one another—now in crimson dye,
And now in golden—as if saints went by
In clouds of glory with a mighty cry,
The mists, like censer smoke, far-circling, fly.
The Earth, in adoration, seems to kneel,
And, worshiping, feel
The awe and wonder that the heavens reveal;
Above her, whom the rapture seems to heal,
Splendor on splendor, wheel on burning wheel,
The hues, like vast cathedral music, reel.
And, worshiping, feel
The awe and wonder that the heavens reveal;
Above her, whom the rapture seems to heal,
Splendor on splendor, wheel on burning wheel,
The hues, like vast cathedral music, reel.
Let us stand up, O Heart, and with one voice,
Like Heaven, rejoice!
Give praise to God! And, with the soul at poise,
Forget awhile the little, mean annoys
Of life! Its tools and all its foolish toys!
And like the hills and heavens make Beauty our high choice!
Like Heaven, rejoice!
Give praise to God! And, with the soul at poise,
Forget awhile the little, mean annoys
Of life! Its tools and all its foolish toys!
And like the hills and heavens make Beauty our high choice!
| The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road | |