The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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“Awake, Psaltery and Harp; I myself will awake early.”Psalms.—Anonymous. |
 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
“Awake, Psaltery and Harp; I myself will awake early.”Psalms.—Anonymous.
Wake, when the mists of the blue mountains sleeping,
Like crowns of glory, in the distance lie;—
When breathing from the south, o'er young buds sweeping,
The gale bears music through the sunny sky;—
While lake and meadow, upland, grove and stream,
Rise like the glory of an Eden dream.
Like crowns of glory, in the distance lie;—
When breathing from the south, o'er young buds sweeping,
The gale bears music through the sunny sky;—
While lake and meadow, upland, grove and stream,
Rise like the glory of an Eden dream.
Wake while unfettered thoughts, like treasures springing,
Bid the heart leap within its prison-cell;—
As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging
The mellow chant of their beguiling spell;—
When earliest winds their anthems have begun,
And, incense-laden, their sweet journeys run
Bid the heart leap within its prison-cell;—
As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging
The mellow chant of their beguiling spell;—
When earliest winds their anthems have begun,
And, incense-laden, their sweet journeys run
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Then, Psaltery, and Harp, a tone awaken,
Whereto the echoing bosom shall reply,
As earth's rich scenes, by shadowy night forsaken,
Unfold their beauty to the filling eye;—
When, like the restless breeze, or wild-bird's lay,
Pure thoughts, on dove-like pinions, float away.
Whereto the echoing bosom shall reply,
As earth's rich scenes, by shadowy night forsaken,
Unfold their beauty to the filling eye;—
When, like the restless breeze, or wild-bird's lay,
Pure thoughts, on dove-like pinions, float away.
Wake then, too, man, when, from refreshing slumber,
And thy luxurious couch, thou dost arise,
Thanks for life's golden gifts—a countless number—
Calm dreams, and soaring hopes, and summer skies;
Wake!—let thy heart's fine chords be touched in praise,
For the free spirit of undying Grace!
And thy luxurious couch, thou dost arise,
Thanks for life's golden gifts—a countless number—
Calm dreams, and soaring hopes, and summer skies;
Wake!—let thy heart's fine chords be touched in praise,
For the free spirit of undying Grace!
| The American common-place book of poetry | |