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Oh! 'tis a glorious morn, the golden sun
Just peeping from his orient chambers calls
On Nature to rejoice, and banish
sleep.
Up! cast the drapery of thy couch aside,
Nor waste in slumber precious hours like these:
To the blue sky above thee lift thine eyes,
Lovely as when its Maker's voice divine,
Did first its birth proclaim, and the bright stars,
In heavenly concert, swell'd their notes of praise,
Go forth when Nature's bounteous hand hath stewn
Her choicest beauties; her luxuriant flowers,
Wet with the tears that night hath o'er them wept;--
Woo'd by the sporting zephyr's mild caress,
They rear their blushing heads, and smiling greet
In silent eloquence the fair young morn.
Oh! could we, with the gloomy shades of night,
Chase the dark clouds of sorrow from the brow;
Could pure affection feel no withering blight,
And heart to heart, in one sweet tie be linked;
How were the soul content to fold her wings,
And dwell forever 'mid such loveliness.
But earth is not our home; --its fairest scenes
Entrance but with a momentary joy.
A few short months, and the green spot thou thread'st
Will smile no more, nor gentle flower be seen,
Nor carol sweet, of the aerial choir
In that deserted wild, will charm thine ear.
Thus the most sacred ties of human love
By death's cold hand are broken, one by one:
Friend after friend departs; with mournful step
We bear them to the narrow house of clay,
And too our hearts comes home the solemn truth,
"We are but dust, to dust we shall return."
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