I saw two clouds at morning Tinged by the rising sun, And in the dawn they floated on And mingled into one.

The rustle of the leaves in summer's hush When wandering breezes touch them, and the sigh That filters through the forest, or the gush That swells and sinks amid the branches high,-- 'Tis all the music of the wind, and we Let fancy float on the aeolian breath.

God is its author, and not man; he laid The key-note of all harmonies; he planned All perfect combinations, and he made Us so that we could hear and understand.

The low'ring element Scowls o'er the darken'd landscape.

So when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave.

There does a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night, And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.