WANDERING at morn, Emerging from the night, from gloomy thoughtsâ€”thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee, harmonious Union! thee, Singing Bird divine! Thee, seated coilâ€™d in evil times, my Country, with craft and black dismayâ€”with every meanness, treason thrust upon thee; â€”Wanderingâ€”this common marvel I beheldâ€”the parent thrush I watchâ€™d, feeding its young, (The singing thrush, whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, Fail not to certify and cheer my soul.)
There ponderâ€™d, felt I, If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs be turnâ€™d, If vermin so transposed, so used, so blessâ€™d may be, Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country; â€”Who knows that these may be the lessons fit for you? From these your future Song may rise, with joyous trills, Destinâ€™d to fill the world.