Classic Poem

BY THE SAME .

The rising sun's enlivening ray
Dispell'd the gloom of night,
Each verdant field and slow'ry spray
With dew-drops twinkled bright.

The earliest of the feather'd throng,
As round all nature smil'd,
A woodlark, tun'd his matin song,
In strains divinely wild.

O say, ye soft harmonious train,
Ye warblers of the grove,
Who taught you thus to pour that strain,
Or tune your voice to love?

The sweetest bird that e'er could sing,
Or flow'r that e'er could blow,
Alike, to heav'n's eternal King,
Their bloom and music owe.

To him, ye birds, attune your lays,
For they to him belong,
And let your music sound his praise
In one concordant song.