A poem by George Pope Morris

The wind-harp has music it moans to the tree,
And so has the shell that complains to the sea,
The lark that sings merrily over the lea,
The reed of the rude shepherd boy!
We revel in music when day has begun,
When rock-fountains gush into glee as they run,
And stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun,
Who brightens the hill-tops with joy!

The spirit of melody floats in the air,
Her instruments tuning to harmony there,
Our senses beguiling from sorrow and care,
In blessings sent down from above!
But Nature has music far more to my choice--
And all in her exquisite changes rejoice!
No tones thrill my heart like the dear human voice
When breathed by the being I love!

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