 | The Christian Seasons |  |
Upon a dim and clouded wintry morn
I watch'd a little bird that sat alone
Upon a leafless branch of an oak tree,
Lifting a sweet but solitary note;
And then it look'd about, as if awhile
Expectant of an answer; but full soon
Another sounded from a neighbouring wood,
Another and another; then anew
He would the strain repeat, and wait again;
Till many slender voices join'd the call
With something of sweet sadness, rather say
Sweetening the sadness of the coming on
Of winter with a cheering note of trust.
I watch'd a little bird that sat alone
Upon a leafless branch of an oak tree,
Lifting a sweet but solitary note;
And then it look'd about, as if awhile
Expectant of an answer; but full soon
Another sounded from a neighbouring wood,
Another and another; then anew
He would the strain repeat, and wait again;
Till many slender voices join'd the call
With something of sweet sadness, rather say
Sweetening the sadness of the coming on
Of winter with a cheering note of trust.
Thus they that fear the Lord in the dark day
Shall often one unto another speak
In voices sad and low, yet such withal
As shall bring comfort to the evil time,
And God shall bow His ear, and hear their sighs,
And write them in His book, and on the day
When He makes up His jewels, on that day
He shall remember them: they shall be His.
Shall often one unto another speak
In voices sad and low, yet such withal
As shall bring comfort to the evil time,
And God shall bow His ear, and hear their sighs,
And write them in His book, and on the day
When He makes up His jewels, on that day
4
The song of birds—how oft it seems to meet
Our spirits in their sadness, and reprove!
Thus that low note came like a prophet's voice,
Predictive of clear skies and open days.
I know of nought in nature which more speaks
The tender mercies and the love of God,
Than do those feather'd strains. When we are sad,
And some bereavement or depressing weight
Hath prison'd us and darken'd all our day,
That voice, on air or bough, hath a strange charm,
Because it speaks of God, brings to the heart
Whispers from Him in this our fallen world,
Like Christ's own parable: He seems to say,
“Hear ye the birds, their little lives are brief,
And long their winters, yet they speak of One,
Who is their God and yours, and that He is
A God of consolation and of hope.”
Our spirits in their sadness, and reprove!
Thus that low note came like a prophet's voice,
Predictive of clear skies and open days.
I know of nought in nature which more speaks
The tender mercies and the love of God,
Than do those feather'd strains. When we are sad,
And some bereavement or depressing weight
Hath prison'd us and darken'd all our day,
That voice, on air or bough, hath a strange charm,
Because it speaks of God, brings to the heart
Whispers from Him in this our fallen world,
Like Christ's own parable: He seems to say,
“Hear ye the birds, their little lives are brief,
And long their winters, yet they speak of One,
Who is their God and yours, and that He is
A God of consolation and of hope.”
| The Christian Seasons | |