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A book of Bristol sonnets

By H. D. Rawnsley

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ON HEARING THE BIRDS SING,
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


35

ON HEARING THE BIRDS SING,

ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING.

Sing, blackbird, sing; chirr, starling; whistle, thrush;
Let your continuous orisons be poured,
Ye have not crucified your Living Lord,
Small need on this sad Wednesday ye should hush.
Fitly by you God's Presence in the bush
From immemorial time has been adored;
But through man's heart must ever pass the sword,
Man's eyes with tears repentant ever gush.
And though we seek, our faces toward the ground,
With pain if penitence may still be found;
Ye guileless singers, through these forty days
Each dawn shall add new beauties to your praise;
And we, who listen to your psalms, may find
By Eastertide the truly thankful mind.