Of food provided for the gentle king
That faintly lowing from the pastures come
Scented with herbage, giving promise fair
Of pails o'erflowing with a sweeter drink
Than ever gleamed in the inebriate's bowl.

Now o'er the landscape signs of twilight creep,
And sounds that tell of night--sounds that I love:
The hooting of the owl, the tree-frog's cry
By distance mellowed; and--more distant still--
I hear the barking of the village dogs.
The breath of evening whispering 'mid the pines,
And deepening shadows, bid me homeward turn;
And yet I linger--for I seem a part
Of lake and mountain, meadow, tree and sky,--
And realize how sweet a thing it is
To lay my heart so close to Nature's own
That I can feel its throbbing, while each pulse
Responsive beats, and o'er my being steals
A rapturous calm like that out parents felt
When to the bowers of Eden they repaired,
And praised their Maker seen in all his works.

Author of nature! Source of life and light!
Almighty Father! let me praise thee too.
This lovely world is thine; yon moon and stars
That now begin to usher in the night
Are but the outposts of unnumbered spheres
That march in order round thy dazzling throne,
And chant thy praises in perpetual song.