THE MORNING CLOUD.
31
THE MORNING CLOUD.
"Who maketh the clouds His chariots. . . . He watereth the hills from His chambers."—Ps. civ.
A storm cloud rose from its ocean-bed,
And as slowly it sailed along,
No rest it found on the beautiful earth;
It dimmed the smile of the morning's mirth,
The joy of the July song.
And as slowly it sailed along,
No rest it found on the beautiful earth;
It dimmed the smile of the morning's mirth,
The joy of the July song.
It seemed to mourn that the fair must fade
In the glow of the summer day:
It wept o'er the beauty it could not share;
Then on to the heavens,—its home was there,—
Its dark wings bore it away.
In the glow of the summer day:
It wept o'er the beauty it could not share;
Then on to the heavens,—its home was there,—
Its dark wings bore it away.
Over the meadows, and over the hills,
"Where many a shadow had flown,
There swept the cloud, with its gathering reef,
Borne wildly along by the wind's wild breath,
Alone—and a lonely one!
"Where many a shadow had flown,
There swept the cloud, with its gathering reef,
Borne wildly along by the wind's wild breath,
Alone—and a lonely one!
Its soft tears fell o'er the new-mown grass,
And brighter the green that it wore;
The water-lily her blossoms outspread,
And the drooping daisy upraised her head,
Refreshed from that heavenly store.
And brighter the green that it wore;
The water-lily her blossoms outspread,
And the drooping daisy upraised her head,
Refreshed from that heavenly store.
