Published by Smith, Elder & C° 65, Corntil

THE MORNING WALK.

THY form is full of youthful grace ;
Joy smiles upon thy happy face;
Thy home is in a country place,
A place of stillness and of shade,
As if for rural quiet made,

Where ancient woods have grown untrimmed,
And garden-walks with trees are dimmed;
Where plots of flowers, as if chance-sown,

Are found in nooks retired and lone;

And an old fountain's waters chime

All day, as if they noted time.

There hast thou grown-each passing year

To thee a happy chronicler;

For life to thee all good doth yield:

And, as the lily of the field,

Thou dost not toil, thou dost not spin,

The bread thou eat'st thou dost not win;

No labour is a-kin to thee,

Fair daughter of prosperity!

Thy heart is light; thou knowest not How sorrow is the human lot:

L