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dewy teardrops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state. I do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient [v]Magians, who, in the morning of the world, went up to the hilltops of Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true God, adored the most glorious work of His hand. But I am filled with amazement, when I am told that, in this enlightened age and in the heart of the Christian world, there are persons who can witness this daily manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator, and yet say in their hearts, "There is no God." EDWARD EVERETT. =HELPS TO STUDY= What experience did Everett describe? What impresses the mood of the early morning? In what latitude did Everett live? What stars and constellations did he mention? Trace the steps by which he pictured the sunrise. Why did he not wonder at the belief of the "ancient Magians"? What thought does cause amazement? SPRING Spring, with that nameless [v]pathos in the air Which dwells with all things fair-- Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, Is with us once again. Out in the lonely woods, the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court, with green festoons, The banks of dark [v]lagoons. In the deep heart of every forest tree, The blood is all aglee; And there's a look about the leafless bowers, As if they dreamed of flowers. Yet still, on every side we trace the hand Of Winter in the land, Save where the maple reddens on the lawn, Flushed by the season's dawn; Or where, like those strange [v]semblances we find That age to childhood bind, The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn, The brown of Autumn corn. [Illustration: The Woods in Spring] As yet the turf is dark, although you know That, not a span below, A thousand germs are groping through the gloom, And soon will burst their tomb. In gardens, you may note, amid the dearth, The crocus breaking earth; And near the snowdrop's tender white and green, The violet in its screen. But many gleams and showers need must pass Along the budding grass, And weeks go by, before the enamored South Shall kiss the rose's mouth.
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