Menella Bute Smedley

Morning

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How pleasant is the morning!
How innocent and bright!
How pretty and surprising
To see the sun uprising,
A ball of golden light!
While sleepy twilight melts away,
And the delicious summer day
Succeeds the silent night!

How pleasant is the morning,
When birds with merry cry
Leap from their nests delighted,
Earth and its dwellers slighted,
Fling music at the sky!
Oh let me, birds, with you rejoice,
For, though less musical my voice,
A singing heart have I.
How pleasant is the morning!
The flowers begin to shine;
No longer idly dozing,
Their happy eyes unclosing,
Look laughing into mine.
I watch them open one by one,
Bidding good-morning to the sun
By many a pretty sign.

How pleasant is the morning!
Dark night, I love thee not;
To lie in dreamless slumber
Through hours I cannot number
Is childhood's hapless lot.
Lovely the moon and stars may be;
Their loveliness is not for me,
In sleep they are forgot.
How pleasant is the morning!
Bright earth and dewy sky
Delicious tears are weeping,
And rivulets are leaping,
And breezes flutter by;
And birds and flowers and trees and grass,
And changeful shadows as they pass,
Enchant the eager eye.

How pleasant is the morning!
How bountiful is He
Who made delight a duty
And filled the earth with beauty,
And gave us eyes to see!
Rejoice, O happy world, rejoice,
And raise to Him thy merry voice,
Childhood serene and free.

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Menella Bute Smedley