Poems (Elliott)/Morning

by Martha Julia Elliott

Morning

When the moon hath died in splendor
And the stars their brightness lose,
When the dove is softly calling
Answered by its mate's soft coos;

When the gently murmuring river
Ripples onward to the sea,
And the night wind softly whispers
All its secrets unto me;

When the east is red with morning,
And the sunlight doth appear,
And the birds are making music
In the springtime of the year;

Then my heart, with joyous beating,
Rises upward from the sod,
And my soul with deepest reverence
Feels its oneness with our God.

Aetat 10.