A Stream’s Singing

O HOW beautiful is Morning!

How the sunbeams strike the daisies,

And the kingcups fill the meadow

Like a golden-shielded army

Marching to the uplands fair;--

I am going forth to battle,

And life's uplands rise before me,

And my golden shield is ready,

And I pause a moment, timing

My heart's pæan to the waters,

As with cheerful song incessant

Onwards runs the little stream;

Singing ever, onward ever,

Boldly runs the merry stream.

O how glorious is Noon-day!

With the cool large shadows lying

Underneath the giant forest,

The far hill-tops towering dimly

O'er the conquered plains below;--

I am conquering--I shall conquer

In life's battle-field impetuous:

And I lie and listen dreamy

To a double-voiced, low music,--

Tender beech-trees sheeny shiver

Mingled with the diapason

Of the strong, deep, joyful stream,

Like a man's love and a woman's;

So it runs--the happy stream!

O how grandly cometh Even,

Sitting on the mountain summit,

Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,

Watching o'er the dewy valleys,

Like a good king near his end:--

I have labored, I have governed;

Now I feel the gathering shadows

Of the night that closes all things:

And the fair earth fades before me,

And the stars leap out in heaven,

While into the infinite darkness

Solemn runs the steadfast stream--

Onward, onward, ceaseless, fearless,

Singing runs the eternal stream.