There are blossoms in the garden, sweet and fair;
There's a sense of wondrous sweetness in the air;
And the meadow grass is swaying, the fickle breeze obeying,
And the daisies rear their white heads everywhere.
There's a twittering in the tree-tops, when the earth
Rejoices at the morning's glorious birth,
As the little birds awaking, their leafy nests forsaking,
Fly hither and fly thither in their mirth.
And the bees about the buttercups fly round
On lazy wings, with humming, droning sound,
As they gather in the sweetness of the summer's day's completeness,
Where the fields with clover blossoms most abound.
There are fleecy clouds above me soaring high,
Lightly, lazily across the azure sky:
There are shadows shifting lightly as the sunbeams follow brightly,
And the day in peaceful beauty passes by.
But the sweetest of all sweetest melody
From within the grand old forest comes to me!
'Tis the woodland brooklet gliding beneath the treas, half hiding
The while it ripples out its song of glee.
And when day is done, the distant evening bell
Rings out, while echoes soft the sweet tones swell;
Till the stars, their bright watch keeping, from shadowy skies are peeping,
And silence comes at last with us to dwell.
