Fall sunshine-harvests spread in golden sheaves.
"There toy the birds in sweet seclusion blest,
To leap the branches or to build the nest,
While from their throats the grateful song outpoured
Wakes woodland orchestras to praise the Lord.
"There walks the wolf, no longer driven wild
By panting hounds and huntsman blood-defiled;
But tamed to kindness, seeketh peacefully
The soothing shelter of a hollow tree.
"Who would be free, and tow'r above his race,