164 GREAT BINDWEED. 



With earliest dawn to hymn their Maker's praise. 

 Hark to the sound of whispering winds at eve, 

 Rustling among the branches ; or at morn, 

 When scarce the wakeful lark his matin sings, 

 Soaring and warbling from amid the heath, 

 Till lost in mid air ! Stirring winds are then 

 Heard in the woods, e'en like the solemn sound 

 Of weltering waves that idly onward roll 

 Over smooth sands, unchafed by barrier rocks, 

 ]\Iaking a soothing murmur. lie who roves 

 Through shady lanes, where overhead the rose 

 Droops in its beauty, and the tiny lamps 

 Of glow-worms kindle in the mossy banks, 

 May hear those vesper sounds among the trees. 

 And oft in autumn, when the sun is set. 

 And t^vilight lingers still o'er dale and plain, 

 As loth to let the night usurp her place, 

 May hear soft winds, sporting the woods among. 

 Or 'mid the corn, causing those rustling sounds 

 Which seem as if the ears themselves had life, 

 And would form words expressive of that praise 

 The Psalmist calls on all inanimate things 



