Blush of sunrise at morning’s prime,
Stars above us their watch to keep,
And rain and dew, though we wake or sleep?
Once more a voice, and I hear it call
Like a bugle-note from a mountain wall;
The pines uplift it with mighty sound,
The billows bear it the green earth round;
A voice that rolls in a jubilant song,
A conqueror’s ring in its echo strong;
Through the ether clear, from the solemn sky