In Mid-wood Silence, Thus, How Sweet To

For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts For True Love, Where Nothing Can Hear Or Intrude; It Hides From The Eagle And Joins With The Dove, In Beautiful Green Solitude.

So Dull And Dark Are The November Days. The Lazy Mist High Up The Evening Curled, And Now The Morn Quite Hides In Smoke And Haze; The Place We Occupy Seems All The World.

This World Has Suns, But They Are Overcast;this World Has Sweets, But They're Of Ling'ring Bloom;life Still Expects, And Empty Falls At Last;warm Hope On Tiptoe Drops Into The Tomb.

The Snow Has Left The Cottage Top; The Thatch Moss Grows In Brighter Green; And Eaves In Quick Succession Drop, Where Grinning Icicles Have Been, Pit-patting With A Pleasant Noise In Tubs Set By The Cottage Door; While Duck And Geese, With Happy Joys, Plunge In The Yard Pond Brimming Over. The Sun Peeps Through The Window Pane: Which Children Mark With Laughing Eye, And In The Wet Street Steal Again To Tell Each Other Spring Is Night.

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.