At five on a dewy morning,
Before the blazing day,
To be up and off on a high-mettled horse,
All care and danger scorning,
Over the hills away,--
To drink the rich sweet breath of the gorse
And bathe in the breeze of the Downs,
Ha! man, if you can, match bliss like this
In all the joys of towns!

With glad and grateful tongue to join
The lark at his matin hymn,
And thence on faith's own wing to spring
And sing with Cherubim!
To pray from a deep and tender heart,
With all things praying anew,
The birds and the bees, and the whispering trees,
And heather bedropt with dew,--
In their glad glee to warble my part,
And pour the carol too!

Then, off again with a slacken'd rein,
And a bounding heart within,
To dash at a gallop over the plain,
Health's golden cup to win!
This, this is the race for gain and grace
Richer than vases and crowns;
And you that boast your pleasures the most
Amid the steam of towns,
Come, taste true bliss in a morning like this,
Galloping over the Downs!