The May Morning. 
Grace Greenwood. 
HE morning brightness showereth down from heaven; 
The morning freshness goeth up from earth; 
The morning gladness shineth everywhere ! 
Soon as the sun, in glorious panoply, 
Parting the crimson curtains of his tent, 
Begins the day’s proud march, the voice of song 
And flush of beauty live along his way ! 
The maiden flowers, whom all the dreamy night, 
The starlight vainly wooed, with wan, cold smile, 
Blush as his presence breathes upon their bloom, 
And feel his kiss through all their glowing veins, 
And shake the night dew from their joyous heads, 
And pour thick perfumes on the golden air. 
The trees bow at his coming and look brave 
In all the richness of their new attire ; 
The Aspen’s shining leaves give back his smile, 
Dancing in glee, yet whispering in awe, 




