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Every step we take, more nigh
Mounts the spirit to the sky.
Sounds of life are waxing low
As we high and higher go,
And a deeper silence given
For choice communing with heaven;
On this eminence awhile
Rest we from our vigorous toil:
Forth our eyes, mind's scouts that be,
Cull fresh food for fantasy!
Like a map, beneath these skies,
Fair the summer landscape lies—
Sea, and sand, and brook, and tree,
Meadow broad, and sheltered lea,
Shade and sunshine intermarried,
All deliciously varied:
Goodly fields of bladed corn,
Pastures green, where neatherd's horn
Bloweth through the livelong day,
Many a rudely jocund lay:
There be rows of waving trees,
Hymning saintliest homilies
To the weary passer by,
Till his heart mount to his eye,
And his tingling feelings glow
With deep love for all below,
