  JENNY TERRILL RUPRECHT. LISTEN near a grove of elms or maples and you will not fail to hear its song, a some what broken, rambling recitative, which no one has so well described as Wilson Flagg, who calls this bird the preacher, and interprets its notes as "You see it! You know it! Do you hear me? Do you believe it?"—Chapman's Bird-Life. Apostle of the grove across the way, Surpliced in color of the foliage, I list enchanted to thy sermon-lay, As if it were the wisdom of a sage; "You see it! You know it! Do you hear me? Do you believe it?" Ah! thou wouldst quicken memory to-day. Nor morning's chill, nor noon-tide's languorous heat, Doth hold thy voice in thrall, O, preacher fair; Perched on the greenest bough, thy message sweet Thou pourest out upon the vibrant air, "You see it! You know it! Do you hear me? Do you believe it?" Over and over in a swift repeat. Apostle of the grove! Thy song divine The God of Nature gave thee note by note, To gladder, fuller make the message thine, Rippling in beauty from thy dainty throat. "You see it! You know it! Do you hear me? Do you believe it?" Would that apostleship so sweet were mine!
| ||||||
|
