A nodded “Good morning” from wayside flower;
From every tree a song,
(A symphony rare of warbled joy),
As the cows slowly browsed along!
The sun gently kissed the mist away,
That over the valley hung,
While odors of incense floated high,
From an unseen censer swung.
Then, too, when the work in the field was o’er,
While heavier chores were done