Then what a chorus wonderful when morning had begun!
The very leaves it seemed to me were singing to the sun,
And calling on the world asleep to waken and behold
The king in glory coming forth along his path of gold.
The crimson-fronted Linnet sang above the river's edge;
The Finches from the evergreens, the Thrushes in the hedge;
Each one as if a dozen songs were chorused in his own,
And all the world were listening to him and him alone.
In gladness sang the Bobolink upon ascending wing,
With cheering voice the bird of blue, the pioneer of spring;