And buried in the yellow broom,
That crowns the neighboring height,
Couches a loutish shepherd groom,
With all his flocks in sight;
Which dot the green braes gloriously,
With spots o' living light.
It is a sight that filleth me
With meditative joy,
To mark these dumb things curiously
Crowd round the guardian boy;
As if they felt this Sabbath hour
Of bliss lacked all alloy.
I bend me towards the tiny flower,
That underneath this tree,
Opens its little breast of sweets
In meekest modesty,
And breathes the eloquence of love,
In muteness, Lord! to thee.
The silentness of night doth brood
O'er this bright summer noon;
And nature, in her holiest mood,
Doth all things well attune,
To joy in the religious dreams
Of green and leafy June.
Far down the glen in distance gleams,
The hamlet's tapering spire,
And glittering in meridial beams
Its vane is tongued with fire;
And hark, how sweet its silvery bell,—
And hark, the rustic choir!
The holy sounds float up the dell
To fill my ravished ear,
And now the glorious anthems swell,—
Of worshippers sincere,—
Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed
Faith's penitential tear.
Dear Lord! thy shadow is forth spread,
On all mine eye can see;
And filled at the pure fountain-head
Of deepest piety,
My heart loves all created things,
And travels home to thee.
Around me while the sunshine flings,
A flood of mocky gold,
My chastened spirit once more sings,
As it was wont of old,
That lay of gratitude which burst
From young heart uncontrolled.
When in the midst of nature nursed,
Sweet influences fell,
On childly hearts that were athirst,
Like soft dews in the bell
Of tender flowers, that bowed their heads,
And breathed a fresher smell.
So, even now this hour hath sped,
In rapturous thought o'er me,
Feeling myself with nature wed,—
A holy mystery,—
A part of earth, a part of heaven,
A part, great God! of Thee.