  'Tis sweet to hold communion With Nature true and wild, And feel the thrill of gladness She breathes upon her child, When close upon her bosom We press the listening ear, And fancy that the minstrelsy Our raptured senses hear, Is sweeter than the chorus By angel choirs sung, Or richer than vibrations Of chords so deftly strung, That all their intonations Seem blended in one strain, By touch of fairy fingers Which enchant the sweet refrain. The beauties of the sunset Upon the evening sky, When flecked with fleeting vapors, Detached and awry, Give colors that no artist Save God alone can show To eyes that seek such blendings, And hearts that long to know Which ne'er can be revealed To those who find not heaven In mountain, sky, and field; For they who live the nearest To Nature's self shall find Joy boundless as the ocean, As pure and unconfined. Deep in the leafy forest A thousand tones are heard,— The laughing, dancing brooklet, The song of bright-winged bird, The buzz of bee on flower, The leaf by breezes fanned, The hum of tiny insect Whose feeble notes command The modulated heart-beat To know the great decree, That frees the mind from slavery And sets the spirit free, Through knowledge of those hidden things Which God only reveals To him who loves all nature, And for a brother feels. The dearest and the sweetest Of all the charms on earth, Are those that link our natures To feelings that have birth Steal our being for an hour, And we are half unconscious Of some mysterious power, That leads us close to heaven, And points to joys supreme, Where fields and flowers and happiness Are not an idle dream, But a true and soothing heritage Whose limit has no end, Where ev'ry rock and tree and shrub Shall prove a trusted friend. If heaven is not shadowed Upon our spirit mind, Through all its gorgeous tintings And colorings combined; If Nature has no language To charm the ear and eye, And brooks and birds and forests Afford no minstrelsy; If waving grain and orchards, Freighted with fragrance rare, Draw not the spirit heavenward And lift the soul in prayer; Then orisons are soulless Though voiced on bended knee, And small must be our knowledge Of the Great Deity. |
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