Power and pride, and force, and fall.
Rising in that fragrant air,
Breathing life and joy and rest,
(Such as should blow o’er the blest,)
Gently the matin chime it bare,
As if the voice of praise and prayer
Its holy pinion wafted best.
The vine crept up the mountain side,
Paying homage to its pride;
The monarch forest o’er us reared