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Heather Lintie.
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|
 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Heather Lintie.
I.
‘Heather Lintie, tell me, pray
Why the Snow-wreath went away?
Why the Snow-wreath went away?
‘Silent Snow-wreath sat alone,
Till she heard the laughing call
Of the merriest stream of all
In the land.
Down the steep from stone to stone,
Shyly creeping, smiling, weeping,
While a sunbeam held her hand,
Snow-wreath found her home ere long,
Silence melted into song.
Now she flows, but not alone,
Singing and rejoicing.’
Till she heard the laughing call
Of the merriest stream of all
In the land.
Down the steep from stone to stone,
Shyly creeping, smiling, weeping,
While a sunbeam held her hand,
Snow-wreath found her home ere long,
Silence melted into song.
Now she flows, but not alone,
Singing and rejoicing.’
182
II.
‘Heather Lintie, tell me, pray,
Why the Burnie went away?’
Why the Burnie went away?’
‘Burnie laughed adown the hill,
Keeping all the flowers awake,
Till she saw the purple lake
Deep and still.
Down the glen from stone to stone,
Blithely dancing, glinting, glancing,
Singing on in silver tone,
Burnie found her home ere long,
Silence sweeter far than song;
Now she flows, but not alone,
Resting and rejoicing.’
Keeping all the flowers awake,
Till she saw the purple lake
Deep and still.
Down the glen from stone to stone,
Blithely dancing, glinting, glancing,
Singing on in silver tone,
Burnie found her home ere long,
Silence sweeter far than song;
Now she flows, but not alone,
Resting and rejoicing.’
III.
‘Heather Lintie, tell me, pray,
Why you do not fly away?’
Why you do not fly away?’
Heather Lintie plumed her wing,
Sang about a happy nest,
Made with one who loved her best
In the spring.
Where beneath a boulder-stone,
In the heather all together,
Warmly nestle all her own.
Heather Lintie will not roam
From her sweet and hidden home.
So she sings, but not alone,
Loving and rejoicing.
Sang about a happy nest,
Made with one who loved her best
In the spring.
Where beneath a boulder-stone,
In the heather all together,
Warmly nestle all her own.
Heather Lintie will not roam
From her sweet and hidden home.
So she sings, but not alone,
Loving and rejoicing.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |