With which we once the passing hours beguiled.
Oh there be times when nature’s every voice,
All tuned in one sweet descant, sing, “rejoice!”
When rolls the sun refulgently away,
And strives the red moon with the dying day,
When golden tints and misty gleams of snow
Have met and mingled in the vale below,
When winds and waters, sweetly toned and clear,
In melting murmurs strike the raptured ear;
The rippling sound by waving branches made,