TWILIGHT
But ho! Presto-“Bob-White! Bob, Bob-White!”
“I announced the morn and now the night.”
Bestirred in the gloaming by Bob-White’s last call,
I awakened to music the sweetest of all.
The flutelike peals of the Thrush of the wood
Still bound me to the world of angelhood.
But the depths of my soul had the holiest hush,
As the organ note rose of the Hermit Thrush.
He climbed to the heights where I too would arise,
But no one may soar with that pride of the skies.
I then asked my heart, “Pray, what is all this?
Why experience birds such wonderful bliss?”
My soul was on fire,
From Nature’s great choir,
As the glad mounting symphony
Climbed higher and higher.
“Is it all of this world, or is it of Heaven?
To birds and to me is this paradise given?”
I longed to understand,
If ’twas place or state,
For all so harmonious and elate;
When responded a three-fold, wondrous band:
The birds replied,
“Life, Life be our earth-celestial theme;”
The angels cried,
“Love and Beauty make any place a-gleam;”
The great who’d died,
“In every state, our song and service to redeem.”
Lo, the shining One waved high his mystic scroll,
And many joined in a sweet but thunderous whole:
“Music flows from a vaster, purer Stream—
Know now, O longing soul,
The vital, eternal scheme
Of Heaven and earth,
From their far off birth,
Is to reach on after the deeper, perfect Goal.”
And, like the voice of ten thousand trumpeters,
“Alleluia to Him Supreme,
The all-embracing, all-out giving Soul!”
To this from creatures numberless rang out a great “Amen”
And again from every heart that sings
In creation’s vast domain:
“On, forever on, in Heaven’s aureole,
Let praise and power roll—
Alleluia, Amen!”