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SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash,And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry shout, That faint and far the glen sent out,
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle
If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills !
No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
THE SPIRIT OF POETRY.
THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods,
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve,
itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,