The sun shines bright and glorious, and the hill tops are illumed
With a more than earthly light, the day our Lady was assumed;
For her, the cloudless blaze of noon on the lonely tarn is glowing,
And the many-sounding torrents chant her praises in their flowing.
For her, the golden valleys thick with corn-fields laugh and sing,
And with innumerous notes of birds the happy woodlands ring;
The earth is jubilant with song, and a preternatural motion
Stirs the deep music of the waves, in sunless caves of ocean;
And the sound of many waters, with a voice of solemn mirth,
Like a worship without words, goes up incessant from the earth;
The — Magnificat — of mountain-streams, and — sweetest after showers —
A fragrance as of incense wafted from myrtle bowers.
And shall we alone, dear Mother, when all around is gay,
Stand mute amid the minstrel choir that hails thy triumph day?
Nay, by the skylark's matin hymn, flooding the heavens with praise,
Faint echo of their angel-harps who on thy brightness gaze.
We too will raise our anthem, all unaudienced though it be,
Tell thy glories to the snow-clad peaks and far-resounding sea;
In Creation's rolling symphony we will bear our feeble part,
Thou wilt not disdain the homage of a true and loyal heart.
What, if there were who loved to roam these breezy, fernclad hills,
And to dream away the summer nights beside their trickling rills,
Who thought to seek the beautiful in earth's most beauteous places,
While the mountain-breath was fraught for them with more than earthly graces?
They behold a more than common light on lake and sunny lea;
For Nature, through her sweet constraints, was drawing them to thee;
Oh, lead us home, dear Mother-Maid, who linger on the way,
Lighten the eyes in darkness bound and turn the feet that stray.
Guide thou our steps through troublous paths of anguish and unrest,
Of subtle questionings, and doubts that may not be represt,
To the land beyond the eastern hills, lapt in the living ray
Of the Uncreated Vision, where the shadows flee away.
With a more than earthly light, the day our Lady was assumed;
For her, the cloudless blaze of noon on the lonely tarn is glowing,
And the many-sounding torrents chant her praises in their flowing.
For her, the golden valleys thick with corn-fields laugh and sing,
And with innumerous notes of birds the happy woodlands ring;
The earth is jubilant with song, and a preternatural motion
Stirs the deep music of the waves, in sunless caves of ocean;
And the sound of many waters, with a voice of solemn mirth,
Like a worship without words, goes up incessant from the earth;
The — Magnificat — of mountain-streams, and — sweetest after showers —
A fragrance as of incense wafted from myrtle bowers.
And shall we alone, dear Mother, when all around is gay,
Stand mute amid the minstrel choir that hails thy triumph day?
Nay, by the skylark's matin hymn, flooding the heavens with praise,
Faint echo of their angel-harps who on thy brightness gaze.
We too will raise our anthem, all unaudienced though it be,
Tell thy glories to the snow-clad peaks and far-resounding sea;
In Creation's rolling symphony we will bear our feeble part,
Thou wilt not disdain the homage of a true and loyal heart.
What, if there were who loved to roam these breezy, fernclad hills,
And to dream away the summer nights beside their trickling rills,
Who thought to seek the beautiful in earth's most beauteous places,
While the mountain-breath was fraught for them with more than earthly graces?
They behold a more than common light on lake and sunny lea;
For Nature, through her sweet constraints, was drawing them to thee;
Oh, lead us home, dear Mother-Maid, who linger on the way,
Lighten the eyes in darkness bound and turn the feet that stray.
Guide thou our steps through troublous paths of anguish and unrest,
Of subtle questionings, and doubts that may not be represt,
To the land beyond the eastern hills, lapt in the living ray
Of the Uncreated Vision, where the shadows flee away.