A Summer Sketch

'Tis June, 'tis merry smiling June;
'Tis blushing summer now:
The rose is red—the bloom is dead—
The fruit is on the bough.

Flora, with Ceres, hand in hand,
Bring all their smiling train:
The yellow corn is waving high,
To gild the earth again.

The bird-cage hangs upon the wall,
Amid the clustering vine:
The rustic seat is in the porch,
Where honeysuckles twine.

The rosy ragged urchins play
Beneath the glowing sky;
They scoop the sand, or gaily chase
The bee that buzzes by.

The household spaniel flings his length
Along the stone-paved hall:
The panting sheep-dog seeks the spot
Where leafy shadows fall.

The petted kitten frisks among
The bean-flowers' fragrant maze;
Or, basking, throws her dappled form
To court the warmest rays.

The opened casement, flinging wide,
Geraniums give to view;
With choicest posies ranged between,
Still wet with morning dew.

'Tis June, 'tis merry laughing June;
There's not a cloud above;
The air is still, o'er heath and hill,
The bulrush does not move.

The pensive willow bends to kiss
The stream so deep and clear
While dabbling ripples gliding on,
Bring music to mine ear.

The mower whistles o'er his toil,
The em'rald grass must yield;
The scythe is out, the swarth is down.
There's incense in the field.

Oh! how I love to calmly muse
In such an hour as this;
To nurse the joy creation gives,
In purity and bliss!

There is devotion in my soul
My lip can ne'er impart;
But thou, oh God! wilt deign to read
The tablet of my heart.

And if that heart should e'er neglect
The homage of its prayer,
Lead it to nature's altar-piece,—
'Twill always worship there.
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