ON MORNING. 

How sweet to wander at the morning hour,
And watch the opening of each beauteous flow'r,
To see the radiant sun its zenith gain,
And brightly gild all nature's ample plain:

How sweet to hear the songsters of the grove
Pour forth to heaven their notes of grateful love,
The towing of the herd from distant hill,
The torrent's louder roar, the murmuring rill.

Behold the sky, all beauteous and serene,
While sparkling dew-drops hang each leaf between;
To see them glitter in the sun's broad ray,
Imbibing colours like the rainbow gay.

Is there a heart that can such wonders view,
Nor give the thanks to the Creator due?
Behold unmov'd all nature's beauties shine,
Nor own the hand so powerful and divine?

Can scenes like these no gratitude enforce
Tow'rd God, their great and unexhausted source
O let me join the woodland songster's strain,
And celebrate with them his wond'rous name!