As we meet and touch, each day, The many travelers on our way, Let every such brief contact be A glorious, helpful minister.

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.

Softly drops the crimson sun: Softly down from overhead, Drop the bell-notes, one by one, Melting in the melting red.

...this pause of rest, This morning hush before the sun.

Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs--and that is all.

So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung.

All green and fair the summer lies, Just budded from the bud of spring, With tender blue of wistful skies, And winds that softly sing.