MORN AND EVEN.
"Thou makest the outgoings of the morning and of the evening to rejoice."—David.
The outgoings of sweet morn! See the light mist,
That spreads its white wing to the heavens away;
See the fresh blossoms by the blithe bee kiss'd;
The hilltop kindling 'neath the King of Day
Spire after spire, that drinks the genial ray;
The rocks, that in their rifted holds abide,
And darkly frown, with heads forever gray;
While the clear stream gleams out in trembling pride
Through its transparent veil, like a fair, timid bride.
Morn to the Earth! the cup of life she quaffs,
And countless voices hail the sparkling draught,
Methinks the lamb beside its mother laughs;
Up soars the lark, with song his Maker taught;
Sweet lisping murmurs wrap the infant's thought,
As gladly from the cottage door it creeps;
The wild rill glitters through the lonely grot;
While the hoarse sea, whose anthem never sleeps,
Reverberates God's praise through all its sounding deeps.
Morn to the watcher by the sick man's bed!
The slow, slow clock tells out the welcome hour,
And to the air he springs with buoyant tread;
The poor caged bird sings sweet in lady's bower;
