December Morning

I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light, Winter's pale dawn; and as warm fires illume, And cheerful tapers shine around the room, Through misty windows bend the musing sight Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white, With shutters closed, peer faintly through the gloom, That slow recedes; while yon gray spires assume, Rising from their dark pile, an added height By indistinctness given. Then to decree The grateful thoughts to God, ere they unfold To friendship or the Muse, or seek with glee Wisdom's rich page. Oh, hours more worth than gold By whose blest use we lengthen life, and, free From drear decays of age, outlive the old.