Morning arose, and from their dreams,
Awoke the slumbering flowers;
Red glowed the hill-tops in her beams,
Her crest lay glittering on the streams,
And on one cot her gayest gleams
Broke in warm golden showers.
A pair of eyes had oped that morn,
Eyes soft and sweet and blue;
A poor, weak, helpless thing forlorn,
Beneath that humble roof was born,