The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven—
All's right with the world! [Pippa passes.
Seb. God's in his heaven! Do you hear that? Who spoke?
You, you spoke!
Otti. Oh—that little ragged girl!
She must have rested on the step: we give them
But this one holiday the whole year round.