And an honest one as well O
In thy suit of olive green,
With red-orange vest between,
And small touching voice so mellow.”
The bird suddenly flew across his path, dropped upon a low piece of iron fencing, glanced askance at him, then darted to where a morning meal peeped out of the damp sod.
Two or three other low, sleepy bird-notes followed, then the water-fowl began their discordant quacking. The tremulous flutenotes of a thrush made rich music on the morning air.
The stars faded out of sight. The cold grey light of dawning day moved into the eastern horizon. The smell of the earth grew rank. The air grew keener. The east slowly reddened. Roofs and towers of houses and churches grew up slowly, and grey amid the cold light of the dawn. He turned to face the spot where he knew the great clock-tower of Westminster could be seen. A light burned high aloft in the tower, telling that England’s legislators were still in session.
Slowly, thoughtfully, he turned back to walk home.
“If Christ came at this instant,” he mused, “how many of those Commoners and Peers would be ready to meet Him? And what of the teeming millions of this mighty city? God help us all! What blind fools we are!”