Hymn of Nature.

—William B. O. Peabody.

GOD of the earth’s extended plains!
The dark green fields contented lie:
The mountains rise like holy towers,
Where man might commune with the sky:
The tall cliff challenges the storm
That lowers upon the vale below,
Where shaded fountains send their streams,
With joyous music in their flow.

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God Is Love.

—Thomas R. Taylor.

All I feel, and hear, and see,

God of love, is full of Thee.

 

EARTH, with her ten thousand flowers

Air, with all its beams and showers:

Ocean’s infinite expanse;

Heaven’s resplendent countenance—

All around, and all above,

Hath this record,—“God is love!”

 

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The Grass-World.

—Mary Mapes Dodge.

OH, life is rife in the heart of the year,
When midsummer suns sail high;
And under the shadow of spike and spear,
In the depth of the daisy-sky,
There’s a life unknown to the careless glance;
And under the stillness an airy prance,
And slender, jointed things astir,
And gossamer wings in a sunny whir,—
And a world of work and dance.

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My Cathedral.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

LIKE two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
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Spring Is Coming.

—James Nack.

SPRING is coming! spring is coming!
Birds are chirping, insects humming;
Flowers are peeping from their sleeping,
Streams escaped from winter’s keeping,
In delighted freedom rushing,
Dance along in music gushing.
Scenes of late in deadness saddened,
Smile in animation gladdened;
All is beauty, all is mirth,
All is glory upon earth;
Shout we then with Nature’s voice,—
Welcome Spring! rejoice! rejoice!

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Matins.

—William H. Burleigh.

FOR the dear love that kept us through the night,
And gave our senses to sleep’s gentle sway,—
For the new miracle of dawning light
Flushing the east with prophecies of day.
We thank thee, O our God!

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Woods In Winter.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

WHEN winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorne blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.

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Harvest.

—Charles D. Bell.

GOOD Lord, the valleys laugh and sing,
The plains stand thick with yellow corn;
The reapers make the echoes ring
With joyous songs from early morn.

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October’s Bright Blue Weather.

—Helen Hunt Jackson.

O SUNS and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather,

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Thou Art, O God.

—Thomas Moore.

THOU art, O God! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where’er we turn Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.

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Still With Thee.

—Harriet Beecher Stowe.

STILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness,—I am with Thee!

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Bee-Keeper’s Song.

—Harry Lathrop.

WHEN apple blossoms come in May,
And clover comes in June,
When bees can work from day to day,
“In soft and pleasing tune,”
When basswood comes in hot July,
And heartease in the fall,
Then may we on the bees rely,
For food and raiment all.

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Eventide.

—Thomas Burbidge.

COMES something down with eventide,
Beside the sunset’s golden bars,
Beside the floating scents, beside
The twinkling shadows of the stars.

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All the Day.

—Stuart Chisholm.

WHEN the earliest ray of morning
Shines aslant from the eastern sky,
Mountain-tops and hills adorning,
With a beauty that gladdens the eye.

Then, Lord of the morning-tide,
Ever with us abide
Wherever our fortune may lead us,
And nothing but good can betide.

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