But, above them all, the Robin sings;
His song is the very soul of day,
And all black shadows troop away
While, pure and fresh, his music rings:
"Light is here!
Never fear!
Day is near!
My dear!"
Miss Harriet E. Paine.
EVENING SONGS.
Gliding at sunset in my boat,
I hear the Veery's bubbling note;
And a Robin, flying late,
Sounds the home-call to his mate.
Then the sun sinks low
In the western glow,
And the birds go to rest. But hush!
Far off sings the sweet Wood-Thrush.
He sings—and waits—and sings again,
The liquid notes of that holy strain.
He ceases, and all the world is still:
And then the moon climbs over the hill,
And I hear the cry of the Whip-poor-will.
Tranquil, I lay me down to sleep,
While the summer stars a vigil keep;
And I hear from the Sparrow a gentle trill,
Which means,
"Good Night; Peace and Good Will."
Miss Harriet E. Paine.