by E.M. Collins.
Originally published in Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine (Punch) vol.3 #17 (May 1846).
Summer, and stillness; ev'ry joyous bird
Pours a half-wearied song; the leafy glade,
Panting with flowery fragrance, to its shade
Invites the wayside wanderer: there is heard
No sound amid the forest-depths, save when
The rushing streamlet by the breeze is stirred;
Or the bee murmurs in the meadows, furred
With moss and starry flowers; or, from some glen.
The tirèd cuckoo lifts a pleasant voice;
Or the lone woodlatk sings his hidden strain.
Oh! bid the poor, the lowly one rejoice,—
Upraise him from his penury and pain;—
That from the choking courts and alleys dim
He may come forth, and join the universal hymn!