From"THE SPARROWS"
SO sat I yesterday, with weary eyesLooking at leafless trees and snow-swept plains,And broad Ontario's ice-encumbered sea.My thoughts had wandered in a waking dreamAcross the deep abyss of vanished years,To that dear land I never saw again—When suddenly a fluttering of wingsShook the soft snow—a twittering of birdsChirping a strange old note, but heard beforeIn English hedges and on roofs red-tiled,Of cottage homes that looked on village greens!An old familiar note! Who says the earForgets a voice once heard? the eye, a charm?The heart, affection's touch, from man or woman?Not mine at least! I knew my own birds' language,And recognised their little forms with joy.A flock of English sparrows at my door,With feathers ruffled in the cold north wind,Claimed kinship with me—hospitality!—Brown-coated things! Not for uncounted goldWould I have made denial of their claims!Five! six! ten! twenty! But I lost all countIn my great joy. Whence come I knew not; gladThey came to me, who loved them for the sakeOf that dear land at once both theirs and mine.I ran to get the food I knew they liked,Remembering how—a child—in frost and snow—I used to scatter crumbs before the door,And wheat in harvest gleaned, to feed the birdsWhich left us not in winter, but made gayThe bleak, inclement season of the year.The sparrows chirped and pecked while eyeing meWith little diamond glances, like old friends,As round my feet they fluttered, hopped and fed,In perfect confidence and void of fear.Their forms, their notes, their pretty ways so strange,Yet so familiar—like a rustic wordLearned in my childhood and not spoken since—All, all came back to me! and as I lookedAnd listened—a thousand memories rose up,Like a vast audience at the nation's song!Old England's hills and dales of matchless charm,Sweeping in lines of beauty, stood revealed:Her fragrant lanes where woodbine trailed the hedge,And little feet with mine ran side by sideAs we plucked primroses, or marked the spotWhere blackbird, thrush or linnet reared its young,While sang the cuckoo on the branching tree.Those meadows, too! Who can forget them ever?So green! with buttercups and daisies set,Where skylarks nested and sprang up at dawnTo heaven's top, singing their rapturous lay!Those gentle rivers, not too large to graspBy the strong swimmer of his native streams;Those landward homes that breed the nation's strength;Those beaconed cliffs that watch her stormy seas,Covered with ships that search all oceans round:Those havens, marts, and high-built cities, fullOf work and wealth and men who rule the world!All rose before me in supernal light,As when beheld with childhood's eyes of strength,And stirred my soul with impulses divine.My heart opened its depths—glad tears and sadMingled upon my cheek, which forty years'Strange winds had fanned and heat and cold embrowned.God's hand is nearer than we think—a touchSuffices to restore the dead; a wordBecomes a wonder of creative power.The little sparrows in their rustic speechTalking a tongue I knew—this message broughtFrom Christ, who spake it, merciful to man:"Are not two sparrows for a farthing sold,And not one falls without the Father's leave?Fear not, therefore! for of more value, ye,Than many sparrows, yea, whose very hairsAre numbered by the loving care of God."I blessed the little messengers who broughtThese words of comfort to my lonely heart,To teach me resignation, hope and peace.Like children in a darkened room we cry,Despairing of the light when 'tis most nigh....The callow bird must wait its wings to fly,And so must thou! God's love is law in love,Working in elements of moral strifeThat will not yield obedience but with pain."Perfect through suffering." Comprehend'st thou that?Upon the cross who was it, dying, cried,In the last agony that rends the soul:"Eli! Eli! lama sabacthani!"No other way! Christ, too, must drink that cupBefore His human life was made divineAnd our redemption possible from sin!Or if a gentler lesson thou would'st learn,Dismayed at those tremendous mysteries,Think of the birds, the lilies, all things HeTakes care of to the end: why not of thee?But while their round of life is here complete,Thine but begins! The law of laws is love,That needs two worlds to perfect all of man,And an eternity to teach God's ways!...
SO sat I yesterday, with weary eyesLooking at leafless trees and snow-swept plains,And broad Ontario's ice-encumbered sea.My thoughts had wandered in a waking dreamAcross the deep abyss of vanished years,To that dear land I never saw again—When suddenly a fluttering of wingsShook the soft snow—a twittering of birdsChirping a strange old note, but heard beforeIn English hedges and on roofs red-tiled,Of cottage homes that looked on village greens!An old familiar note! Who says the earForgets a voice once heard? the eye, a charm?The heart, affection's touch, from man or woman?Not mine at least! I knew my own birds' language,And recognised their little forms with joy.A flock of English sparrows at my door,With feathers ruffled in the cold north wind,Claimed kinship with me—hospitality!—Brown-coated things! Not for uncounted goldWould I have made denial of their claims!Five! six! ten! twenty! But I lost all countIn my great joy. Whence come I knew not; gladThey came to me, who loved them for the sakeOf that dear land at once both theirs and mine.I ran to get the food I knew they liked,Remembering how—a child—in frost and snow—I used to scatter crumbs before the door,And wheat in harvest gleaned, to feed the birdsWhich left us not in winter, but made gayThe bleak, inclement season of the year.The sparrows chirped and pecked while eyeing meWith little diamond glances, like old friends,As round my feet they fluttered, hopped and fed,In perfect confidence and void of fear.Their forms, their notes, their pretty ways so strange,Yet so familiar—like a rustic wordLearned in my childhood and not spoken since—All, all came back to me! and as I lookedAnd listened—a thousand memories rose up,Like a vast audience at the nation's song!Old England's hills and dales of matchless charm,Sweeping in lines of beauty, stood revealed:Her fragrant lanes where woodbine trailed the hedge,And little feet with mine ran side by sideAs we plucked primroses, or marked the spotWhere blackbird, thrush or linnet reared its young,While sang the cuckoo on the branching tree.Those meadows, too! Who can forget them ever?So green! with buttercups and daisies set,Where skylarks nested and sprang up at dawnTo heaven's top, singing their rapturous lay!Those gentle rivers, not too large to graspBy the strong swimmer of his native streams;Those landward homes that breed the nation's strength;Those beaconed cliffs that watch her stormy seas,Covered with ships that search all oceans round:Those havens, marts, and high-built cities, fullOf work and wealth and men who rule the world!All rose before me in supernal light,As when beheld with childhood's eyes of strength,And stirred my soul with impulses divine.My heart opened its depths—glad tears and sadMingled upon my cheek, which forty years'Strange winds had fanned and heat and cold embrowned.God's hand is nearer than we think—a touchSuffices to restore the dead; a wordBecomes a wonder of creative power.The little sparrows in their rustic speechTalking a tongue I knew—this message broughtFrom Christ, who spake it, merciful to man:"Are not two sparrows for a farthing sold,And not one falls without the Father's leave?Fear not, therefore! for of more value, ye,Than many sparrows, yea, whose very hairsAre numbered by the loving care of God."I blessed the little messengers who broughtThese words of comfort to my lonely heart,To teach me resignation, hope and peace.Like children in a darkened room we cry,Despairing of the light when 'tis most nigh....The callow bird must wait its wings to fly,And so must thou! God's love is law in love,Working in elements of moral strifeThat will not yield obedience but with pain."Perfect through suffering." Comprehend'st thou that?Upon the cross who was it, dying, cried,In the last agony that rends the soul:"Eli! Eli! lama sabacthani!"No other way! Christ, too, must drink that cupBefore His human life was made divineAnd our redemption possible from sin!Or if a gentler lesson thou would'st learn,Dismayed at those tremendous mysteries,Think of the birds, the lilies, all things HeTakes care of to the end: why not of thee?But while their round of life is here complete,Thine but begins! The law of laws is love,That needs two worlds to perfect all of man,And an eternity to teach God's ways!...
SO sat I yesterday, with weary eyesLooking at leafless trees and snow-swept plains,And broad Ontario's ice-encumbered sea.My thoughts had wandered in a waking dreamAcross the deep abyss of vanished years,To that dear land I never saw again—When suddenly a fluttering of wingsShook the soft snow—a twittering of birdsChirping a strange old note, but heard beforeIn English hedges and on roofs red-tiled,Of cottage homes that looked on village greens!An old familiar note! Who says the earForgets a voice once heard? the eye, a charm?The heart, affection's touch, from man or woman?Not mine at least! I knew my own birds' language,And recognised their little forms with joy.
SO sat I yesterday, with weary eyes
Looking at leafless trees and snow-swept plains,
And broad Ontario's ice-encumbered sea.
My thoughts had wandered in a waking dream
Across the deep abyss of vanished years,
To that dear land I never saw again—
When suddenly a fluttering of wings
Shook the soft snow—a twittering of birds
Chirping a strange old note, but heard before
In English hedges and on roofs red-tiled,
Of cottage homes that looked on village greens!
An old familiar note! Who says the ear
Forgets a voice once heard? the eye, a charm?
The heart, affection's touch, from man or woman?
Not mine at least! I knew my own birds' language,
And recognised their little forms with joy.
A flock of English sparrows at my door,With feathers ruffled in the cold north wind,Claimed kinship with me—hospitality!—Brown-coated things! Not for uncounted goldWould I have made denial of their claims!Five! six! ten! twenty! But I lost all countIn my great joy. Whence come I knew not; gladThey came to me, who loved them for the sakeOf that dear land at once both theirs and mine.
A flock of English sparrows at my door,
With feathers ruffled in the cold north wind,
Claimed kinship with me—hospitality!—
Brown-coated things! Not for uncounted gold
Would I have made denial of their claims!
Five! six! ten! twenty! But I lost all count
In my great joy. Whence come I knew not; glad
They came to me, who loved them for the sake
Of that dear land at once both theirs and mine.
I ran to get the food I knew they liked,Remembering how—a child—in frost and snow—I used to scatter crumbs before the door,And wheat in harvest gleaned, to feed the birdsWhich left us not in winter, but made gayThe bleak, inclement season of the year.The sparrows chirped and pecked while eyeing meWith little diamond glances, like old friends,As round my feet they fluttered, hopped and fed,In perfect confidence and void of fear.Their forms, their notes, their pretty ways so strange,Yet so familiar—like a rustic wordLearned in my childhood and not spoken since—All, all came back to me! and as I lookedAnd listened—a thousand memories rose up,Like a vast audience at the nation's song!
I ran to get the food I knew they liked,
Remembering how—a child—in frost and snow—
I used to scatter crumbs before the door,
And wheat in harvest gleaned, to feed the birds
Which left us not in winter, but made gay
The bleak, inclement season of the year.
The sparrows chirped and pecked while eyeing me
With little diamond glances, like old friends,
As round my feet they fluttered, hopped and fed,
In perfect confidence and void of fear.
Their forms, their notes, their pretty ways so strange,
Yet so familiar—like a rustic word
Learned in my childhood and not spoken since—
All, all came back to me! and as I looked
And listened—a thousand memories rose up,
Like a vast audience at the nation's song!
Old England's hills and dales of matchless charm,Sweeping in lines of beauty, stood revealed:Her fragrant lanes where woodbine trailed the hedge,And little feet with mine ran side by sideAs we plucked primroses, or marked the spotWhere blackbird, thrush or linnet reared its young,While sang the cuckoo on the branching tree.Those meadows, too! Who can forget them ever?So green! with buttercups and daisies set,Where skylarks nested and sprang up at dawnTo heaven's top, singing their rapturous lay!Those gentle rivers, not too large to graspBy the strong swimmer of his native streams;Those landward homes that breed the nation's strength;Those beaconed cliffs that watch her stormy seas,Covered with ships that search all oceans round:Those havens, marts, and high-built cities, fullOf work and wealth and men who rule the world!All rose before me in supernal light,As when beheld with childhood's eyes of strength,And stirred my soul with impulses divine.
Old England's hills and dales of matchless charm,
Sweeping in lines of beauty, stood revealed:
Her fragrant lanes where woodbine trailed the hedge,
And little feet with mine ran side by side
As we plucked primroses, or marked the spot
Where blackbird, thrush or linnet reared its young,
While sang the cuckoo on the branching tree.
Those meadows, too! Who can forget them ever?
So green! with buttercups and daisies set,
Where skylarks nested and sprang up at dawn
To heaven's top, singing their rapturous lay!
Those gentle rivers, not too large to grasp
By the strong swimmer of his native streams;
Those landward homes that breed the nation's strength;
Those beaconed cliffs that watch her stormy seas,
Covered with ships that search all oceans round:
Those havens, marts, and high-built cities, full
Of work and wealth and men who rule the world!
All rose before me in supernal light,
As when beheld with childhood's eyes of strength,
And stirred my soul with impulses divine.
My heart opened its depths—glad tears and sadMingled upon my cheek, which forty years'Strange winds had fanned and heat and cold embrowned.God's hand is nearer than we think—a touchSuffices to restore the dead; a wordBecomes a wonder of creative power.The little sparrows in their rustic speechTalking a tongue I knew—this message broughtFrom Christ, who spake it, merciful to man:"Are not two sparrows for a farthing sold,And not one falls without the Father's leave?Fear not, therefore! for of more value, ye,Than many sparrows, yea, whose very hairsAre numbered by the loving care of God."
My heart opened its depths—glad tears and sad
Mingled upon my cheek, which forty years'
Strange winds had fanned and heat and cold embrowned.
God's hand is nearer than we think—a touch
Suffices to restore the dead; a word
Becomes a wonder of creative power.
The little sparrows in their rustic speech
Talking a tongue I knew—this message brought
From Christ, who spake it, merciful to man:
"Are not two sparrows for a farthing sold,
And not one falls without the Father's leave?
Fear not, therefore! for of more value, ye,
Than many sparrows, yea, whose very hairs
Are numbered by the loving care of God."
I blessed the little messengers who broughtThese words of comfort to my lonely heart,To teach me resignation, hope and peace.Like children in a darkened room we cry,Despairing of the light when 'tis most nigh....The callow bird must wait its wings to fly,And so must thou! God's love is law in love,Working in elements of moral strifeThat will not yield obedience but with pain.
I blessed the little messengers who brought
These words of comfort to my lonely heart,
To teach me resignation, hope and peace.
Like children in a darkened room we cry,
Despairing of the light when 'tis most nigh....
The callow bird must wait its wings to fly,
And so must thou! God's love is law in love,
Working in elements of moral strife
That will not yield obedience but with pain.
"Perfect through suffering." Comprehend'st thou that?Upon the cross who was it, dying, cried,In the last agony that rends the soul:"Eli! Eli! lama sabacthani!"No other way! Christ, too, must drink that cupBefore His human life was made divineAnd our redemption possible from sin!Or if a gentler lesson thou would'st learn,Dismayed at those tremendous mysteries,Think of the birds, the lilies, all things HeTakes care of to the end: why not of thee?But while their round of life is here complete,Thine but begins! The law of laws is love,That needs two worlds to perfect all of man,And an eternity to teach God's ways!...
"Perfect through suffering." Comprehend'st thou that?
Upon the cross who was it, dying, cried,
In the last agony that rends the soul:
"Eli! Eli! lama sabacthani!"
No other way! Christ, too, must drink that cup
Before His human life was made divine
And our redemption possible from sin!
Or if a gentler lesson thou would'st learn,
Dismayed at those tremendous mysteries,
Think of the birds, the lilies, all things He
Takes care of to the end: why not of thee?
But while their round of life is here complete,
Thine but begins! The law of laws is love,
That needs two worlds to perfect all of man,
And an eternity to teach God's ways!...