Breath of the morning ! how balmy thy flight

Breath of the morning! how balmy thy flight,
O'er earth and thro' air on the wings of light!
How sweet thy song of summer, how soft,
How gentle thy coming, and O how oft!

With the morning stars when they first arose,
To wake with their song a world's repose,
Thy low, hush'd, whispering voice did sing,
As night waved homeward her dusky wing.

Fresh thou art from thy viewless bowers,
Where all night long thou hast slept amid flowers,
That sweeter than those of earth's loveliest dells
Breathed at thy parting their soft farewells.

Wandering the forests and wild groves thro'
Thou hast drunk ere the sun of the morning dew,
Thou hast kiss'd each flower, and raised its head
With the balm of thy breath from its nightly bed.

Thou can'st tell where first at peep of dawn
The sun look'd down on earth's flow'ry lawn,
What ocean wilds, or what mountain streams,
First glanced in the smile of his morning beams.

Thou hast been o'er the heath where the wild deer lay,
When he started up at break of day,
Shaking the drops from his dew-steep'd hair
O'er the wither'd spot of his lonely lair.

Thou hast pass'd the waters that roll so bright
Down the rocky path of their moss-crown'd height,
Telling them tales of the mountain steep,
And waking the vale they had lull'd to sleep.

Thou hast swell'd the mariner's idle sails
With a sigh of love from his own dear vales,
That tho' sweet was sad, for thy soft breeze bore
The bark that it cheer'd to some distant shore.

But go, sweet breath of the morning air!
With thy pinions of light on thy path so fair!
And thy visits of mercy pay where'er
Thy joy is most welcome, thy voice most dear.

Go gladden the captive's lonely cell
With some token of love from his native dell,
And bathe his warm brow with a breath as free
As ever swept o'er him in liberty.

Go visit the mourner's lattice, and creep
Into his soul with some dream of sleep,
And tell him of flowers beyond the sky,
That never are wither'd, that ne'er can die;

Or thro' the folds of the curtain'd bed,
Steal in, and fan the fever'd head,
And cheer the sick one, as there he lies,
With thy blessed hopes and memories!

If this thy mission, sweet morning air,
With a message of comfort to pain and care,
If thou dost leave thy bowers of ease,
To brighten and bless such haunts as these; —

Then indeed the wave of thy glorious wing,
Heaven's glad tidings to earth doth bring,
As sweet as ever angels bore,
To the children of men in days of yore!

Breath of the morning! how bright must have been
Thy primal path o'er the lovely scene
Of a world where sin had never trod,
Unspotted and pure from the hand of its God!

Bright was then thy path of glory!
Bright was then each morning's story!
And the beings of bliss, that cross'd thy flight,
Sinless and deathless were bright, how bright!

Such mornings are past, nor aught so fair
Shall welcome thy coming again, sweet air!
'Till the Lord shall descend from His throne on high,
To reclothe this earth in His purity.

Then shall the bloom of a world new-born,
Wave in the breath of that nightless morn,
Whose light shall the hills eternal crown,
Whose risen sun shall no more go down.