Other birds have fled this dim light, Hiding 'mid the broad-leaved shadows Knowest thou the woods have voices, Poet-voices full and clear, Strains at which the heart rejoices, Feeling the unspoken near; Pouring music, like a river Many toned and deep and strong; Then the "crimson tippèd" thing, Strains condensed thus in words: "Well I know the joyous mazes Of the song so full and fine;— Very faint would be God's praises, Sounded by no voice but mine! "Yet the little child's sweet laughter, Makes it no responsive smile; Though the poet singeth after, And the angels all the while? "What I sing I cannot measure, So, I learned that crumbs are able He who wintry hours has given, And while angels sing in heaven God hears robins sing on earth. Only keep thee on the wing,— EXCELSIOR. The Skylark. THEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth, where cares abound; Or, while thy wings aspire, are heart and eye To the last point of vision and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain ("Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain. Yet might'st thou seem,-proud privilege,-to sing All independent of the leafy Spring. Leave to the nightingale the shady wood; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood WORDSWORTH. Faith and Presumption. "He that believeth shall not make haste," therefore "he shall not be confounded." E EAR to ask, "If it be Thou, Bid me come to thee," Though thou think at Jesus' word Thou could'st walk the sea. Haste is mingling with such faith, And betrays it weak; Rather be it thine to wait Till thy Lord shall speak. Hast thou faith, and could'st thou joy Perils to abide? Yet bethink thee how a saint His dear Lord denied: "Yea, though all offended be, But for those presumptuous words Bitter tears were shed. |