






































GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
The mists, like incense from the earth, 
Rise to a God beloved, 
And o’er the waters move, as erst 
The Holy Spirit moved: 
The torrent’s voice, the waves’ low hymn, | 
Seem the fair notes of Seraphim ; 
And all earth’s thousand voices raise 
Their song of worship, love, and praise. 
The gentle sisterhood of flowers 
Bend low their lovely eyes, 
Or gaze through trembling tears of dew 
Up to the holy skies ; | 
And the pure stars come out above 
Like sweet and blessed things of love, 
Bright signals in the ethereal dome 
To guide the parted spirit home. 
There is an air of blessedness 
In air and earth and heaven, 
And Nature wears the blessed look 
Of a young saint forgiven: 
Oh who, at such an hour of love, 
Can gaze on all around, above, 
And not kneel down upon the sod 
With Nature’s self, to worship God! 
