To greet sweet motherhood.

I see thee in the lonely wood,

With hardy woodsmen clearing future cities,

And hardy daughters chanting ditties

Where trips the lure of beauty ankle deep,

I see thee in the busy marts of blood and brain,

And in the crowded thoroughfares,

Of ceaseless noise, and sightless glares,

That lead to woods again.

I see thee by the nervous ocean,

That trembles still, with wild emotion,

And brings sad pennance for its night of wrath.

I see thee on the lonely mountain path,

That leadeth ever up and down.

I see thee in the golden brown

That burns gay summer's bonny cheeks.

I see thee in the light that seeks

A soberer gown along the afternoon.

I see thee by the harvest's moon,

And hear thee in the reaper's distant song.

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