 | Pocahontas, and other poems |  |
115
GOOD-NIGHT OF THE BIRDS.
It was a Sabbath evening
In spring's most glorious time,
When tree, and shrub, and early flower
Were in their fragrant prime;
And where the cloudless sun declined,
A glow of light serene,
A blessing on the world he left,
Came floating o'er the scene.
In spring's most glorious time,
When tree, and shrub, and early flower
Were in their fragrant prime;
And where the cloudless sun declined,
A glow of light serene,
A blessing on the world he left,
Came floating o'er the scene.
Then from the verdant hedgerow
A gentle descant stole,
And with its tide of melody
Dissolved the listening soul,
The tenants of that leafy lodge,
Each in its downy nest,
Pour'd forth a fond and sweet “good-night”
Before they sank to rest.
A gentle descant stole,
And with its tide of melody
Dissolved the listening soul,
The tenants of that leafy lodge,
Each in its downy nest,
Pour'd forth a fond and sweet “good-night”
Before they sank to rest.
That tender parting carol!
How wild it was, and deep,
And then, with soft, harmonious close,
It melted into sleep;
Methought, in yonder land of praise,
Which faith delights to view,
True-hearted, peaceful worshippers,
There might be room for you.
How wild it was, and deep,
And then, with soft, harmonious close,
It melted into sleep;
Methought, in yonder land of praise,
Which faith delights to view,
True-hearted, peaceful worshippers,
There might be room for you.
116
Ye give us many a lesson
Of music high and rare,
Sweet teachers of the lays of heaven,
Say, will ye not be there?
Ye have no sins, like ours, to purge
With penitential dew;
Oh! in the clime of perfect love,
Is there no place for you?
Of music high and rare,
Sweet teachers of the lays of heaven,
Say, will ye not be there?
Ye have no sins, like ours, to purge
With penitential dew;
Oh! in the clime of perfect love,
Is there no place for you?
| Pocahontas, and other poems | |