I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, I murmur under moon and stars And out again I curve and flow For men may come, and men may go, But I go on forever. -Alfred Tennyson. THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding-bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower; There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree; There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles -William Cullen Bryant. WHEN on the breath of Autumn's breeze, From pastures dry and brown, What joy in dreaming ease to lie I feel the day; I see the field; And at this very hour I seem I see the fields of Bethlehem, And reapers many a one Again, I see a little child, His mother's sole delight, God's living gift of love unto The kind, good Shunamite ; To mortal pangs I see him yield, The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, That eighteen hundred years ago Oh golden fields of bending corn, Seem of old time, and take me there! |