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Ralph Waldo Emerson. Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy.

mf cres.

1. I do not count the hours I spend In wan-d'ring by the sea;

2. In plains that room for shad-ows make Of skirt-ing hills to lie

3. See thou bring not to fields or stone The fan - cies found in books;

The for -est is my loy-al friend, Like God it us - eth me.

Bound in by streams which give and take Their col - ors from the sky;

Leave au - thors' eyes, and fetch your own. To brave the landscape's looks;

A - loft, in se-cret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, O

Or on the mountain-crest sub-lime, Or down the o - pen glade, O

Ob - liv - ion here thy wis-dom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For

few to scale these up - lands dare, Tho' they to all be - long, O

what have I to do with time? For this the day was made, O

a proud i - die - ness like this Crowns all thy mean af - fairs. For

few to scale these up-lands dare, Tho' they to all

what have I to do with time? Tor this the day was made

a proud i - die - ness like this Crowns all thy mean af - fairs.