A Stream’s Singing
O HOW beautiful is Morning!
How the sunbeams strike the daisies,
And the kingcups fill the meadow
Like a golden-shielded army
Marching to the uplands fair;—
I am going forth to battle,
And life’s uplands rise before me,
And my golden shield is ready,
And I pause a moment, timing
My heart’s pæan to the waters,
As with cheerful song incessant
Onwards runs the little stream;
Singing ever, onward ever,
Boldly runs the merry stream.
O how glorious is Noon-day!
With the cool large shadows lying
Underneath the giant forest,
The far hill-tops towering dimly
O’er the conquered plains below;—
I am conquering—I shall conquer
In life’s battle-field impetuous:
And I lie and listen dreamy
To a double-voiced, low music,—
Tender beech-trees sheeny shiver
Mingled with the diapason
Of the strong, deep, joyful stream,
Like a man’s love and a woman’s;
So it runs—the happy stream!
O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
Watching o’er the dewy valleys,
Like a good king near his end:—
I have labored, I have governed;
Now I feel the gathering shadows
Of the night that closes all things:
And the fair earth fades before me,
And the stars leap out in heaven,
While into the infinite darkness
Solemn runs the steadfast stream—
Onward, onward, ceaseless, fearless,
Singing runs the eternal stream.
