 | The Choir and The Oratory |  |
43
III.
“Birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay
his head.”—Luke ix. 58.
The last bright glance of sunset sheds below
Its glory, and the roseate beams that spring
From the recess of light, in splendour bring
The sun's farewell;—such messengers as throw
Open the gates of morn. All creatures know
The hour when woods their twilight shadows fling.
No more the swallow tracks her airy ring
Of light. The rook's dark phalanx homeward go.
The bee her cell hath found, or closed her wing
On scabious wild. Yea, every breathing thing,
Cradled in down, or silken web, or bed
Of woven leaf, or sheltered covert, lies:
All, save the Lord of air, and earth, and skies:
He only had not where to lay his head.
| The Choir and The Oratory | |