In the Morning

by Willis Boyd Allen

Like a child, laughs in its sleep.

All our faces shyly hidden,

As the fir-trees oft have bidden,

Softly bending, sweet notes blending,

Moonbeams climbing,

Wee bells chiming,

Harebells tinkle, star-gleams twinkle,

To and fro,

To and fro,

Sweet—sweet and low.