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For thy bloom-offerings, which, o'er festal board,
And youthful brow, and e'en the shaded couch
Of long secluded sickness, may have shed
A joy, now lost.
Yet shall there still be joy,
Where God hath poured forth beauty, and the voice
Of human love shall still be heard in praise
Over his glorious gifts!—O Father, Lord!
The All Beneficent! I bless thy name,
That thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers,
Linking our hearts to nature! By the love
Of their wild blossoms, our young footsteps first
Into her deep recesses are beguiled,
Her minster cells; dark glen and forest bower,
Where, thrilling with its earliest sense of thee,
Amidst the low religious whisperings
And shivery leaf-sounds of the solitude,
The spirit wakes to worship, and is made
Thy living temple. By the breath of flowers,
Thou callest us, from city throngs and cares,