Southern garland . ting with the sorest smart. Even the childrens tears are poured Into this sea of tears;They know the story of the Lord Who gave a life for theirs:But what is Christ to Hunger ? Dead Thorns to living Thirst ?The childrens wails are loudest, or Their little hearts would burst. Listen I Along the centuries A bird has sought to sing ;And every wind has beaten it. Even the w^inds of all along the centuries One flower has tried to blossom,And every Spring has withered it. And every Winter frozen. If from the dark Gethsemane The cry of Christ rings downOer poppy or anemo
Southern garland . ting with the sorest smart. Even the childrens tears are poured Into this sea of tears;They know the story of the Lord Who gave a life for theirs:But what is Christ to Hunger ? Dead Thorns to living Thirst ?The childrens wails are loudest, or Their little hearts would burst. Listen I Along the centuries A bird has sought to sing ;And every wind has beaten it. Even the w^inds of all along the centuries One flower has tried to blossom,And every Spring has withered it. And every Winter frozen. If from the dark Gethsemane The cry of Christ rings downOer poppy or anemone. And ruined gate and town,It is to tend the flower And give the bird his wing—Poor bud that never opens. Poor bird that may not sing. The bird would sing supernally DrCfUHS If anyone would hear, ?* The flower would bloom eternally rlOWCr. If any held it dear,The World would stem its sea of tears. The Christ eyes smile in the straitened places bloomed The Bud and Bird of Love. •§ Dreams in LEAF MUSIC. >^ ISTEN! the Winds are playingA fugue in the orchard trees: They creep through the boughs of apple,And linger among the leaves. And touch, with a gentler straying. Leaves over-soon decaying. The Winds come singing, leaves ?with a silken sheen : This song is a silver an alto note washed in; It sounds like an apple flinging On grass the sun is stinging. But oh, ?when Winds come rushingThrough wattle, ?when day s at noon ! Set low like a mothers murmurInto ears when the eyelids droop ; Set soft, like a bees hum hushing The flowers his lips are brusliing. O, gleaming, dripping Wattle! The Wind, when it blows through a velvet-throated singer, And it sings to a golden noon, where the noonlights mottle,I lie and listen, waltle! And, listening, pass the borderWhere only a child may stray, Into the land of fairies . . The years since I ?went that way! Ah, Wattle ! are you the warder Who guards that dim, dear border ?
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidsoutherngarl, bookyear1904
