The street musicians of the heavenly city,
The birds, who make sweet music for us all
In our dark hours, as David did for Saul.
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“Think of your woods and orchards without birds!
Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams
As in an idiot’s brain remembered words
Hang empty ’mid the cobwebs of his dreams!
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds
Make up for the lost music, when your teams