Good morning, Life--and all
Things glad and beautiful.
My pockets nothing hold,
But he that owns the gold,

The Sun, is my great friend--
His spending has no end.
Hail to the morning sky,
Which bright clouds measure high;

Hail to you birds whose throats
Would number leaves by notes;
Hail to you shady bowers,
And you green field of flowers.

Hail to you women fair,
That make a show so rare
In cloth as white as milk--
Be't calico or silk:

Good morning, Life--and all
Things glad and beautiful.

Tomz..