The Pleasant World.

A poem by H. P. Nichols

I love to see the sun go down
Behind the western hill;
I love to see the night come on,
When everything is still.

I love to see the moon and stars
Shine brightly in the sky;
I love to see the rolling clouds
Above my head so high.

I love to see the little flowers
That grow up from the ground;
To hear the wind blow through the trees,
And make a rustling sound.

I love to see the sheep and lambs
So happy in their play;
I love to hear the small birds sing
Sweetly, at close of day.

I love to see them _all_, because
They are so bright and fair;
And He who made this pleasant world
Will listen to my prayer.

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