  Who could not sleep in this embowered room Perched high above the suffocating ground; Where clinging vines, and tree-tops in their bloom Cast grateful shade and fragrance all around; When, added to the magic spell of flowers, The night bird's song fills up the witching hours! Who could not rise refreshed at early dawn In this same sweet, enchanted nook; When, to the half-unconscious ear is borne, From Lark and Robin, Sparrow, Thrush and Rook, The gentle warning of the opening day— God's earliest sermon to humanity! What soul could feel the burdening weight of sin When, from these tiny, upraised throats, The songs of Nature's praise begin And Heavenward pour, in liquid dulcet notes! We gladly join our grateful voice to theirs And turn our thoughts to God in earnest prayers. E. D. Barron. |
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