INVITATION by Charles Sangster
Oh, come away to the grave old woods
Ere the skies are tinged with light,
Ere the slumbering leaves of the gloomy trees
Have thrown off the mists of night ;
Ere the birds are up,
Or the floweret's cup
Js drained of its fresh'ning dew,
Or the bubbling rill
Kissing the hill
Breaks on the distant view;
Oh, such is the hour
To feel the power
Of the quiet, grave old woods!
Then, while sluggards dream,
Of some dismal theme,
Let us stroll,
With prayerful soul,
Through the depths of the grave old woods.
Oh, come away to the bright old woods,
As the sun ascends the skies,
While the birdlings sing their morning hymn,
And each leaf in the grove replies;
When the golden-zoned bee
Flies from flower to tree
Seeking sweets for its honeyed cell,
And the voice of praise
Sounds its varied lays
From the depths of each quiet dell:
Oh, such is the hour
To feel the power
Of the magic bright old woods!
Then, while sluggards dream
Of some trifling theme,
Let us stroll,
With studious soul,
Through the depths of the bright old woods.
Some of the oldest forests on Earth:
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