The Morning Summons

WHEN the mist is on the river, and the haze is on the hills,
And the promise of the springtime all the ample heaven fills;
When the shy things in the wood-haunts, and the hardy on the plains,
Catch up heart and feel a leaping life through winter-sluggish veins:

Then the summons of the morning like a bugle moves the blood,
Then the soul of man grows larger like a flower from the bud;
For the hope of high Endeavor is a cordial half divine,
And the banner cry of Onward ! calls the laggards into line.

There is glamour of the moonlight when the stars rain peace below,
But the stir and smell of morning is a better thing to know ;
While the night is hushed and holden and transpierced by dreamy song,
Lo, the dawn brings dew and fire and the rapture of the strong !