 |
|
 | 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT
The mountain that the morn doth kiss
Glad greets its shining neighbor;
Lord! heed the homage of our bliss,
The incense of our labor.
Glad greets its shining neighbor;
Lord! heed the homage of our bliss,
The incense of our labor.
Sharp smites the sun like burning rain,
And field and flower languish;
Hear, Lord! the pleading of our pain,
The passion of our anguish.
And field and flower languish;
Hear, Lord! the pleading of our pain,
The passion of our anguish.
61
Now the long shadows eastward creep,
The golden sun is setting;
Take, Lord! the worship of our sleep,
The praise of our forgetting.
The golden sun is setting;
Take, Lord! the worship of our sleep,
The praise of our forgetting.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |