IN THE STRENGTH OF THE MORNING.
I stand upon the morning’s rim,And all life’s dream within me thrills;I am the cup whose beaded brimThe wine of living holds or spills:I stand upon the morning’s rim,When day grows rose and night is dim.There comes a freshness from the floorOf ocean and the night-bathed land;A spirit swings each roseate doorWith winnowing wings and odours bland:Rose flames enkindle heaven’s floor,And the grey mists are night no more.I stand upon the morning’s verge,And feel the glorious waking world;Afar I hear life’s thundering surgeOn morning’s beaches maddening hurled,In flame-tinged beauty, where the vergeOf ocean sings melodious dirge.I stand at morning’s rim and knowThat all this dream of earth and sea,These clouds and dreamy fields below,This azure sphere, were made for me:That all are mine that morn doth know,The airs that brood, the blades that grow.I walk in fields knee-deep in grass,Where heavenward elms spread their arms;I dream the airs of morning pass,With voices from a hundred farms:The bobolink rises from the grass,Brim with the melody morning has.I wander by the shade of woods,In roadways brown and wet with dew—The great cool, leafy solitudes;My heart grows great and lonely too,With the large wisdom of the woods,Full of the morning’s haunted moods.The world grows faint and far away,As morning grows a dream at noon;Here the great silences do pray,With spread arms in a voiceless swoon:The fields gleam out and far awayAcross the hum and hush of day.I breathe life’s airs and feel my heartLeap into being, like a brookThat from a mountain crag doth start,And falls in snowy thunders shook:So all earth’s glories in my heartSurge outward, nature’s counterpart.The over-moving fields of blue,They are the dreams that God hath spread,With dews and fires of morning too,Far out around above my head:I feel their deep, far-lifting blue,Shot with the morning’s radiance through.Here in the brooding earth I dreamThe great, high visions of the soul;Strong like the swerved tide of the stream,Broad like the morn’s unbroken whole:Majestic hopes of life I dream,Such visions great a god might deem.So clear the river’s eye is clear,So strong and fresh the smell of earth,So gladly heaven hovers near,Great thoughts could scarcely fail of birth:The very soul grows crystal clear,Like some pure, spring-fed mountain mere.Out here across this wind-blown land,Where all is great and glad and new,I feel my spirit’s wings expandLike eagle’s under heaven’s blue:Great with the strength of sea and land,I grasp life’s problems in my hand.Back downward to the world I go,Filled with the glory of earth’s light;No demon dread can overthrow,No dreams of evil e’er affright:To battle with my fate I go,Across the days of strife and woe.No frosts of wintry age can chill,No deeps of midnight swirl me down;The fires of Spring my being thrill,The dreams of morning fence me round:By blue, blue brooks that never chill,I climb for aye a summer hill.I climb and listen to a song,Sung by a bird at Summer’s dawn,A song that holds no note of wrong,Dreamed from the world where love hath gone:I listen, listen till that song,Like God’s voice, makes the years more strong.
I stand upon the morning’s rim,And all life’s dream within me thrills;I am the cup whose beaded brimThe wine of living holds or spills:I stand upon the morning’s rim,When day grows rose and night is dim.There comes a freshness from the floorOf ocean and the night-bathed land;A spirit swings each roseate doorWith winnowing wings and odours bland:Rose flames enkindle heaven’s floor,And the grey mists are night no more.I stand upon the morning’s verge,And feel the glorious waking world;Afar I hear life’s thundering surgeOn morning’s beaches maddening hurled,In flame-tinged beauty, where the vergeOf ocean sings melodious dirge.I stand at morning’s rim and knowThat all this dream of earth and sea,These clouds and dreamy fields below,This azure sphere, were made for me:That all are mine that morn doth know,The airs that brood, the blades that grow.I walk in fields knee-deep in grass,Where heavenward elms spread their arms;I dream the airs of morning pass,With voices from a hundred farms:The bobolink rises from the grass,Brim with the melody morning has.I wander by the shade of woods,In roadways brown and wet with dew—The great cool, leafy solitudes;My heart grows great and lonely too,With the large wisdom of the woods,Full of the morning’s haunted moods.The world grows faint and far away,As morning grows a dream at noon;Here the great silences do pray,With spread arms in a voiceless swoon:The fields gleam out and far awayAcross the hum and hush of day.I breathe life’s airs and feel my heartLeap into being, like a brookThat from a mountain crag doth start,And falls in snowy thunders shook:So all earth’s glories in my heartSurge outward, nature’s counterpart.The over-moving fields of blue,They are the dreams that God hath spread,With dews and fires of morning too,Far out around above my head:I feel their deep, far-lifting blue,Shot with the morning’s radiance through.Here in the brooding earth I dreamThe great, high visions of the soul;Strong like the swerved tide of the stream,Broad like the morn’s unbroken whole:Majestic hopes of life I dream,Such visions great a god might deem.So clear the river’s eye is clear,So strong and fresh the smell of earth,So gladly heaven hovers near,Great thoughts could scarcely fail of birth:The very soul grows crystal clear,Like some pure, spring-fed mountain mere.Out here across this wind-blown land,Where all is great and glad and new,I feel my spirit’s wings expandLike eagle’s under heaven’s blue:Great with the strength of sea and land,I grasp life’s problems in my hand.Back downward to the world I go,Filled with the glory of earth’s light;No demon dread can overthrow,No dreams of evil e’er affright:To battle with my fate I go,Across the days of strife and woe.No frosts of wintry age can chill,No deeps of midnight swirl me down;The fires of Spring my being thrill,The dreams of morning fence me round:By blue, blue brooks that never chill,I climb for aye a summer hill.I climb and listen to a song,Sung by a bird at Summer’s dawn,A song that holds no note of wrong,Dreamed from the world where love hath gone:I listen, listen till that song,Like God’s voice, makes the years more strong.
I stand upon the morning’s rim,And all life’s dream within me thrills;I am the cup whose beaded brimThe wine of living holds or spills:I stand upon the morning’s rim,When day grows rose and night is dim.
There comes a freshness from the floorOf ocean and the night-bathed land;A spirit swings each roseate doorWith winnowing wings and odours bland:Rose flames enkindle heaven’s floor,And the grey mists are night no more.
I stand upon the morning’s verge,And feel the glorious waking world;Afar I hear life’s thundering surgeOn morning’s beaches maddening hurled,In flame-tinged beauty, where the vergeOf ocean sings melodious dirge.
I stand at morning’s rim and knowThat all this dream of earth and sea,These clouds and dreamy fields below,This azure sphere, were made for me:That all are mine that morn doth know,The airs that brood, the blades that grow.
I walk in fields knee-deep in grass,Where heavenward elms spread their arms;I dream the airs of morning pass,With voices from a hundred farms:The bobolink rises from the grass,Brim with the melody morning has.
I wander by the shade of woods,In roadways brown and wet with dew—The great cool, leafy solitudes;My heart grows great and lonely too,With the large wisdom of the woods,Full of the morning’s haunted moods.
The world grows faint and far away,As morning grows a dream at noon;Here the great silences do pray,With spread arms in a voiceless swoon:The fields gleam out and far awayAcross the hum and hush of day.
I breathe life’s airs and feel my heartLeap into being, like a brookThat from a mountain crag doth start,And falls in snowy thunders shook:So all earth’s glories in my heartSurge outward, nature’s counterpart.
The over-moving fields of blue,They are the dreams that God hath spread,With dews and fires of morning too,Far out around above my head:I feel their deep, far-lifting blue,Shot with the morning’s radiance through.
Here in the brooding earth I dreamThe great, high visions of the soul;Strong like the swerved tide of the stream,Broad like the morn’s unbroken whole:Majestic hopes of life I dream,Such visions great a god might deem.
So clear the river’s eye is clear,So strong and fresh the smell of earth,So gladly heaven hovers near,Great thoughts could scarcely fail of birth:The very soul grows crystal clear,Like some pure, spring-fed mountain mere.
Out here across this wind-blown land,Where all is great and glad and new,I feel my spirit’s wings expandLike eagle’s under heaven’s blue:Great with the strength of sea and land,I grasp life’s problems in my hand.
Back downward to the world I go,Filled with the glory of earth’s light;No demon dread can overthrow,No dreams of evil e’er affright:To battle with my fate I go,Across the days of strife and woe.
No frosts of wintry age can chill,No deeps of midnight swirl me down;The fires of Spring my being thrill,The dreams of morning fence me round:By blue, blue brooks that never chill,I climb for aye a summer hill.
I climb and listen to a song,Sung by a bird at Summer’s dawn,A song that holds no note of wrong,Dreamed from the world where love hath gone:I listen, listen till that song,Like God’s voice, makes the years more strong.