Once more from these harmonious beauties gain
Repose and ransom, and a power to feel
The immortal gladness of inanimate things.
There is the mighty Mother, ever young
And garlanded, and welcoming her sons.
There are her thousand charms to soothe thy pain,
And merge thy little, individual woe
In the broad health and happy fruitfulness
Of all that smiles around thee. For thy sake
The woven arches of her forests breathe