His love-song to the morn,
I have seen the dew-drops clinging,
To the rose just newly born;
But a sweeter song has cheered me,
At the evening’s gentle close,
I have seen an eye still brighter,
Than the dew-drops on the rose—
’Twas thy voice, my gentle Mary,
And thine artless, winning smile,
That made this world an Eden,