The sun breaks through the morning mist,
As flowers bend in grace,
With every shimmer, every kiss,
That brightens nature’s face.

The brook doth babble on its way,
With laughter so divine;
While echoes of the songbirds play
Such gentle sounds of time.

Beneath the boughs, where shadows dance,
The world is fair and true;
With every glance and fleeting chance,
Of heaven’s gentle hue.

Thus may we wander, hearts in hand,
With Nature as our guide;
And know her voice in every land,
Where woeful things abide.

— Jones Very

• Jones Very