On the perfume of flowerlets in the dell,
On the white sea-foam on the ocean swell,
On the shivering lances of silvery light,
On the shimmering sunbeam's arrowy flight,
	The Spirit of God is nigh.

Through the ebony night's amorphous veil,
Through the feathery clouds, the starlight pale,
Flutters to earth; and the glimmering rays
Of the gibbous moon, singing His praise,
	The Spirit of God in the sky.

On the silent lake, in the limpid stream,
In the quiet sleep, in the feverish dream,
On the howling storm's tempestuous breast,
On the balmy air, dreaming, at rest,
	The Spirit of God rides high.

Where droning bees their nectar sip,
Where poppies hang o'er the river's lip,
Where the red, red cheek of the roses blush,
Where the flaming cups of tulips flush,
	The Spirit of God doth lie.