O joyous morning of the primal world!
O tenderness of hue on sky and earth,
The utterness of peace!—O sea impearled
With first and holiest light, a lustrous birth!
O final flower of perfect nature thou
Our pure sweet Eve, bound round about with love
So that the universe seems finished now.
Lo there! she feels the odorous gales which move
In sweetest cadence flower and fruit and leaf,
Until there comes a whispering, and then
One careless, faithless thought, and unbelief
Has fixed the iron throne of death, and heaven
And earth are with most sad oppression dim;
Till Christ at last bears gloom away with Him.