Öweet, aweet, aweet Th the wind's song, Astir in the rippled wheat AU day long. It hath the brook's wild gayety, The soirowful cry of the sea. Oh, hush and hear, Sweet, sweet and clear, Above tLe locust whirr And hum of bee, Rúes that eoft, pathetic harmony. In the meadow graas The innocent whito daisies blow ; Ihe daudelion doth pass Vaguely to and f'ro - ïhe nnquiet spirit of a flower That hath too brief an hour. Now dotha little cloud, all white In golden light, Drift down the warm blue sky ; And now on the horizon line, Where dusïy woodlands lie, A Biinny mist duth shlne, Like to a tgÜ before a holy shriDO, Concealing, Half revealing, Things divine. Sweet, Bweet, sweet Ie the wind's songi Aetir In the rippied wheat Ali day long. That exquisito music calis] The reaper everywhere- Life and death must share : The golden harvest falle. So doth all end- Ronored philoeophy, Science, and art, The blcom of the heart : Master, Consoler, ÏTriend, Make Ihou the íiarvest of our dftys Tr fn.ll withiTi Thv WEVB !