The angels round the throne had just begun
Their vesper hymn of praise—the sweetest one;
The stars were trimming then their lamps of light,
Like watchers, ready for the coming night;
The earth rejoiced through all her numerous fields,
Blest with the crop that generous autumn yields:
The meadow streams subduing music stole,
Like dreams of rapture, to the fainting soul,—
When thou sprung into being, like the ray
Of early morn, the gleam of dawning day.