Читать книгу Cross Roads - Margaret E. Sangster - Страница 9

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The dawn is here! I climb the hill;

The earth is young and strangely still;

A tender green is showing where

But yesterday my fields were bare. …

I climb and, as I climb, I sing;

The dawn is here, and with it—spring!

My oxen stamp the ground, and they

Seem glad, with me, that soon the day

Will bring new work for us to do!

The light above is clear and blue;

And one great cloud that swirls on high,

Seems sent from earth to kiss the sky.

The birds are coming back again,

They know that soon the golden grain

Will wave above this fragrant loam;

The birds, with singing, hasten home;

And I, who watch them, feel their song

Deep in my soul, and nothing wrong,

Or mean or small, can touch my heart. …

Down in the vale the smoke-wreaths start,

To softly curl above the trees;

The fingers of a vagrant breeze

Steal tenderly across my hair,

And toil is fled, and want, and care!

The dawn is here!

I climb the hill;

My very oxen seem to thrill—

To feel the mystery of day.

The sun creeps out, and far away

From man-made law I worship God,

Who made the light, the cloud, the sod;

I worship smilingly, and sing!

* * *

The dawn is here, and with it—spring!