Volume 7 — Morning At Spring Park.

Along the upland swell and wooded lawn The aged farmer's voice is heard at dawn: That well-known call across the dewy vale Calls Spark and Daisy to the milking-pail. The robin chirps; from farm to farm I hear The bugle-note of wakeful chanticleer; And far, far off, through grove and bosky dell, The dreamy tinkle of sleek Snowflake's bell. The huddling sheep, just loose from kindly fold, Their nibbling way along the hill-side hold; And timid squirrels and shy quails are seen Flitting, unscared, across the shaded green. The low horizon's dusky, violet blue Is tinged with coming daylight's rosy hue, Till o'er the golden fields of tasselled corn Breaks all the rapture of the summer morn. Through forest rifts the level sunbeams dart, And gloomy nooks to sudden beauty start; Those long, still lines which through rank foliage steal, Undreamed-of charms among the woods reveal. The yellow wheat-stooks catch the early light; Far-nested homesteads gleam at once to sight; While, from yon glimmering height, one spire serene Points duly heavenward this terrestrial scene. Long may the aged farmer's call be heard. At dewy dawn, with song of matin bird. Among his loving flocks and herds of kine, A guileless master, watchful and benign. And, when no more his agile footstep roves These flowery pastures and these pleasant groves, Good Shepherd, may thy call to fields more fair Wean every thought from earth, make heaven his care!