 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
46
THE ROBIN'S HYMN.
My Maker, I know not the place of thy home;
If 't is earth or the sky, or the sea.
I only can tell, that, wherever I roam,
I 've still a kind Father in thee.
If 't is earth or the sky, or the sea.
I only can tell, that, wherever I roam,
I 've still a kind Father in thee.
I feel that, at night, when I go to my rest,
Thy wings all around me are flung;
And peaceful I sleep, while the down of thy breast
Is o'er me, as mine o'er my young.
Thy wings all around me are flung;
And peaceful I sleep, while the down of thy breast
Is o'er me, as mine o'er my young.
And when in the morning I open my eye,
I find thou hast long been awake:
Thy beautiful plumage seems spread o'er the sky,
And painted again on the lake.
I find thou hast long been awake:
Thy beautiful plumage seems spread o'er the sky,
And painted again on the lake.
Thy breath has gone into the buds; and the flowers
Have opened to thee on their stems;
And thou the bright dew-drops hast sent down in showers
To glitter like thousands of gems.
Have opened to thee on their stems;
And thou the bright dew-drops hast sent down in showers
To glitter like thousands of gems.
Thy voice, with the notes that can only be thine—
A music 't is gladness to hear,
Comes through the green boughs of the oak and the pine,
And falls sweet and soft on my ear.
A music 't is gladness to hear,
Comes through the green boughs of the oak and the pine,
And falls sweet and soft on my ear.
47
And many a time hast thou stood between me
And the arrow, that aimed at my heart;
For, though in a form that my eye could not see,
I know thou hast parried the dart.
And the arrow, that aimed at my heart;
For, though in a form that my eye could not see,
I know thou hast parried the dart.
I drink from the drops on the grass and the vine,
And gratefully gather my food:
I feel thou hast plenty for me and for mine;—
That all things declare thou art good.
And gratefully gather my food:
I feel thou hast plenty for me and for mine;—
That all things declare thou art good.
My Father, thy pinions are ever unfurled,
With brightness no changes can dim!
My Maker, thy home is all over the world:
Thou 'lt hear then, thy Robin's low hymn!
With brightness no changes can dim!
My Maker, thy home is all over the world:
Thou 'lt hear then, thy Robin's low hymn!
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |