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by Charles Swain

Earth her summer wealth is bringing,
Every bough is, like a lyre,
Answering to the wind's low singing—
Sweet as bells from Fancy's spire!
Milder light is on the fountain,
Softer bloom upon the flower;
Joy comes dancing down the mountain,
Joy with roses wreathes the hour.

See the stars in golden dances
O'er the fields of azure glide;
See, the ocean soft advances—
Sparkling light with fairy tide:
Flowers with fond and gentle motion,
Leaves with grace no storms annoy;
All around—earth, heaven, and ocean—
Feel the influence of Joy!

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