When not a cloud is in the sky,
Nor shadow on the lake
Save what the trees that line the shore
And little islands make,--
When every nook where'er we look,
Is bright with dewy flowers,
And violets are thickly strewn
As though they fell in showers.

How sweetly on the balmy air
The children's voices ring!
And even I renew my youth
With each returning spring.
Oh, we may keep a fresh young heart
Though outward beauty fade,
If we but cherish there a love
For all that God has made.

I do not call a happy man
The man that's rich or great;
Nor him, who stands with folded hands
And says, "It is my fate!"
But he is blest who cheerfully
Endures or does his part,
And looks on earth, and sea, and sky
With an adoring heart.

He wanders by the pebbly beach.
And by the summer brook,