For the bright-blushing morning, all rosy with light,
Shall convey on her wings the Creator of day;
He shall drive all the tempests and terrors of night,
And Nature enliven'd, again shall be gay.
Then the warblers of Spring shall attune the soft lay,
And again the bright flow'ret shall blush in the vale;
On the breast of the Ocean the Zephyr shall play,
And the sunbeam shall sleep on the hill and the dale.
If the tempests of Nature so soon sink to rest—
If her once-faded beauties so soon glow again,