Читать книгу Records of Woodhall Spa and Neighbourhood - James Conway Walter - Страница 8

Table of Contents

How from that tiny throat,

Songster of night!

Flows such a wealth of note,

Full of delight;

Trembling with resonance,

Rapid and racy,

Sinking in soft cadence,

Gushing with ecstasy,

Dying away,

All in their turns;

Plaintive and gay,

Thrilling with tones aglow,

Melting in murmurs low,

Till one’s heart burns?

Once in the wilderness,

By desert well,

Hagar in loneliness,

With Ishmael,

Sighed to the silent air,

Tears on her glistening;

Yet to her, even there,

Angels were listening,

Noting her prayer.

Even so singest thou,

Not to thyself, Mayn’t there be list’ning now Some fairy elf, Silently sitting near Thy dark retreat, Drinking with grateful ear Thy music sweet, Ringing so clear?

No! not alone art thou;

One there’s above, e’en now,

“Whose mercy’s over all,”

“Who sees the sparrow fall;”

“To Him the night is day,”

He hears thy matin lay,

High o’er us all.

Through the hushed, slumb’ring air, Thy accents raise, For all his loving care Incense of praise; Thrilling with happiness, Full with content, Still asking His goodness, Prayer with praise blent.

Little thou mayest be,

Yet art His care;

He, too, has given thee

Gifts rich and rare.

Still, then, thy voice upraise,

Still chant thy Maker’s praise

While we are rapt in sleep,

Still thou thy vigil keep;

Still let some earthly cry

Go to our God on high;

Humbly, yet fervently, piercingly call,

Call for His watchfulness over us all.