Classic Poem

O blessed mildly rising morn
I feel thy sweet fresh breeze
I see thee wave the springing corn
& the tops of the green young trees

When thou com'st stately from the hills
Thy flowry mantle o'er thee
Thy praise is sung by a hundred rills
And all the woods adore thee

They bend their mighty branches so low
To kiss the sparkling dews
Or dip them in the streams which flow
'Mong flow'rets of all hues

Thou art welcomed by the fields & plains
& the lark with gladsome song
& with joy pours forth his matin strains
On the soft clouds borne along

The heavens rejoice at thy approach
The blue arch with fresh glory
Spans the earth spread beneath like an emerald couch
And brightens the mountains hoary