Upon til roountain's morning sido The players, all in teathered eoata. On tree topss swing, in thiekets hide. And sound preliminar; notes. The violinists hcre and there Tune all their many strings unseen; Long Bloping tones are in the air, With pizzicato bits between. Hark, 'tia a fiutc's roulado so near That reveis gay and unafraidl And thero the clarinet rings olear Its niellow trill frora yonder glade. Tho gentle tappings of a drum Sound wbere the beeches thianor gror; ) Nearer a haiuorist is come Upon his droll bassooii to blow. And now a 'cello from afar Breathes out its human, dim appeal - A voico as froxu a distant star Where mortal work their woe and weaL Then down a sylvan aisle I gaze. And to my musing sense it seems A leader mounts a stump and sways His baton like a man of dreains. And here behold a marvel wroughtl For marshaled in a concord sweet The blending fragmenta all are brought To tune and harmony complete. ís it a masterpiece that men Have heard before- and found it good? Is this the Khineland o'er again? Am I with Siegfried in the wood? Nay, for tliis priceless hour tia mino To share with nature's audienco A symphony too rare and fine For skill of human instrumente. Leader, what music hast thou stirredl Players, atill heed hün every onel And God be thauked for evéry bird That sins briiieath the summer sun.