TO A BIRD ON ASH-WEDNESDAY.
WHENCE comest thou, sweet warbler,
This glorious spring-like morn?
From unknown worlds afar
With all this gush of song?
Such floods of heavenly melody
Across my soul you pour,
It touches, as it floats along,
Chords never touched before.
This glorious spring-like morn?
From unknown worlds afar
With all this gush of song?
Such floods of heavenly melody
Across my soul you pour,
It touches, as it floats along,
Chords never touched before.
Who sent thee, tiny messenger?
What tribe do you belong?
Is this your morning sacrifice?
Is this your Lenten song?
O, for the gift of language now,
Some name I never heard,
To call these notes, whose richest flow
These slumbering feelings stirred.
What tribe do you belong?
Is this your morning sacrifice?
Is this your Lenten song?
O, for the gift of language now,
Some name I never heard,
To call these notes, whose richest flow
These slumbering feelings stirred.
If I could burst these earthly bars,
With all my waywardness forgiven,
I'd soar with thee beyond the stars,
New glories see in yon bright heaven.
Thrice welcome on this morn of Lent,
We'll hail with thee its birth;
Farewell, I know that thou wast sent,
To sanctify the earth.
With all my waywardness forgiven,
I'd soar with thee beyond the stars,
New glories see in yon bright heaven.
Thrice welcome on this morn of Lent,
We'll hail with thee its birth;
Farewell, I know that thou wast sent,
To sanctify the earth.