The Harp
*
The harp at Nature’s advent strung
Has never ceased to play;
The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.
*
*
The green earth sends her incense up
From many a mountain shrine
From folded leaf and dewy cup
She pours her sacred wine.
*
*
The mist above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer,
The altar-curtains of the hills
Are sunset’s purple air.
*
*
The blue sky is the temple’s arch,
Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer.
*
John Greenleaf Whittier
Susan out to play
Family & Friends
A Bouquet
Christmas Quiet
