The clear bright morning, with its scented air 
And gaily waving flowers, is here again; 
Man's heart is lifted with the voice of prayer, 
And peace descends, as falls the gentle rain; 
The tuneful birds, that all the night have slept, 
Take up at dawn the evening's dying lay, 
When sleep upon their eyelids gently crept 
And stole with stealthy craft their song away. 
High overhead the forest's swaying boughs 
Sprinkle with drops the traveler on his way; 
He hears far off the tinkling bells of cows 
Driven to pasture at the break of day; 
With vigorous step he passes swift along, 
Making the woods reecho with his song.