Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/87

While the far-echoing solitudes rejoice
To the rich augh of music in that voice.

But purer light than of the early sun
Is on you cast, O mountains of the earth!
And for your dwellers nobler joy is won
Than the sweet echoes of the skylark's mirth,
        By this glad morning's birth!
And gifts more precious by its breath are shed
Than music on the breeze, dew on the violet's head.

Gifts for the soul, from whose illumined eye,
O'er nature's face the colouring glory flows;
Gifts from the fount of immortality,
Which, fill'd with balm, unknown to human woes,
        Lay hush'd in dark repose,
Till thou, bright dayspring! mad'st its waves our own,
By thine unsealing of the burial stone.

Sing, then, with all your choral strains, ye hills!
And let a full victorious tone be given,