And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God!
S. T. Coleridge.
MORNING.
Wish’d morning’s come; and now upon the plains
And distant mountains, where they feed their flocks,
The happy shepherds leave their homely huts,
And with their pipes proclaim the new-born day!
The lusty swain comes with his well-fill’d stoup
Of healthful viands, which, when hunger calls,