And thoughtfully he turns the leaves
Of Nature's blessed book.
In forest shade, on hill, in vale,
Where'er he walks abroad,
There goes an humble worshipper--
A lover of his God.

The cares that trouble other men
For him have little weight;
He values glory at its worth,
Nor cringes to the great.
His simple pleasures never fail,
Nor make his nature cold,--
And though the years may come and go,
He never can be old.

You call the picture overdrawn--
But such a man I know;
Whose presence, like the morning sun,
Dispels each cloud of woe.
And trustingly I cling to him
As only true love can,--
My comforter, protector, guide,--
My love, thou art the man!

And you are teaching me to look
On nature with your eyes;
The pleasant change within my heart
Each day I realize.
The world is brighter now to me,