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poems by mary baker eddy
O FOR THY WINGS, SWEET BIRD!
FOR thy wings, sweet bird!And soul of melody by being blest—
Like thee, my voice had stirred
Some dear remembrance in a weary breast.
But whither wouldst thou rove,
Bird of the airy wing, and fold thy plumes?
In what dark leafy grove
Wouldst chant thy vespers 'mid rich glooms?
Bird of the airy wing, and fold thy plumes?
In what dark leafy grove
Wouldst chant thy vespers 'mid rich glooms?
Or sing thy love-lorn note—
In deeper solitude, where nymph or saint
Has wooed some mystic spot,
Divinely desolate the shrine to paint?
In deeper solitude, where nymph or saint
Has wooed some mystic spot,
Divinely desolate the shrine to paint?
Yet wherefore ask thy doom?
Blessed compared with me thou art—
Unto thy greenwood home
Bearing no bitter memory at heart;
Blessed compared with me thou art—
Unto thy greenwood home
Bearing no bitter memory at heart;
Wearing no earthly chain,
Thou canst in azure bright soar far above;
Nor pinest thou in vain
O'er joys departed, unforgotten love.
Thou canst in azure bright soar far above;
Nor pinest thou in vain
O'er joys departed, unforgotten love.
