Awake, and up! our own bright star
In the golden east is fading,
And the brimming honey-cups, near and far,
Their sweets are fast unlading;
Softly, pleasantly murmur our song,
With joyful hearts, as we speed along.
Off to 'the bank where the wild thyme blows,'
And the fragrant basil is growing;
We'll drink from the heart of the virgin rose
The nectar that now is flowing.
Sing, for the joy of the early dawn!
Murmur, in praise of the beautiful morn!
Away, over orchard and garden fair,
With the choicest sweets deep-laden;
Away! or before us she will be there,
Our favorite blue-eyed maiden;
Winning, with beauty's magic power,
Rich guerdon from the morning hour.
Her cheek will catch the rose's blush,
Her eye the sunbeam's brightness,
Her voice the music of the thrush,
Her heart the vapor's lightness;
And the pure fresh spirit of the whole
Shall fill her quick expanding soul.
Joy! for our Queen is forth to-day!
Brave hearts, rally about her;
Guard her well on her flowery way,
For we could not live without her:
Now drink to the health of our ladye true;
In a crystal beaker of morning dew.
She will sit near by in the bending brake,
So pleasant and tall and shady,
And the sweetest honey for her we'll make,
Our own right royal lady:
We'll gather rich stores from the flowering vine
And the golden horns of the columbine.
We heed not the nettle-king's bristling spear,
Though we linger not there the longest;
We extract his honey without a fear,
For love can disarm the strongest:
In the rank cicuta's poison-cell
We know where the drops of nectar dwell.
Our Father has planted nought in vain,
Though in some the honey is weaker;
Yet a drop in the worst may still be found,
To comfort the earnest seeker:
Praise Him who giveth our daily food,
And the love that findeth all things good.