 | Morning Glories : |  |
104
GRAYSTONE CREST, LOGAN STATION, PHILADELPHIA, PA.
'Tis Sabbath, and a lovely calm
O'erspreads the fields of many tints of green,
The falling blossoms from the budding trees
Lie white upon the tender blades of grass,
The air is freighted with their odor sweet,
And fans our heated faces as we pass.
O'erspreads the fields of many tints of green,
The falling blossoms from the budding trees
Lie white upon the tender blades of grass,
The air is freighted with their odor sweet,
And fans our heated faces as we pass.
And naught disturbs the quiet of the hour,
Except the distant echo of the train,
That through the valley swept with din and roar,
And darted into view, then out again.
Except the distant echo of the train,
That through the valley swept with din and roar,
And darted into view, then out again.
Across the track and in the near beyond,
The browsing cattle graze upon the hill,
While goslings glide upon the bosom of a pond,
Whose waters ripple by the sporting wind at will.
The browsing cattle graze upon the hill,
While goslings glide upon the bosom of a pond,
Whose waters ripple by the sporting wind at will.
The mating birds with music fill the wood,
With glad anticipations sweetly sing,
An anxious mother hen collects her brood
Contentedly beneath her open wing.
With glad anticipations sweetly sing,
An anxious mother hen collects her brood
Contentedly beneath her open wing.
And yonder is the “City of the dead,”
O'er which the weeping willow gently waves,
Beneath the sod there loved ones low are laid,
And gentle hands plant flowers on their graves.
O'er which the weeping willow gently waves,
Beneath the sod there loved ones low are laid,
And gentle hands plant flowers on their graves.
O, happy here might I forever dwell,
Surrounded by this calm and sweet repose,
No ache or sorrow should my bosom swell,
Until my day of life had reached its close.
Surrounded by this calm and sweet repose,
No ache or sorrow should my bosom swell,
Until my day of life had reached its close.
What if the world in blindness me should chide,
For all my failings in this blest retreat,
With one sincere who would in me confide,
This realm enough, my joy would be complete.
For all my failings in this blest retreat,
With one sincere who would in me confide,
This realm enough, my joy would be complete.
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