SEPTEMBER.
And sooth to say, yon vocal grove
Albeit uninspired by love,
By love untaught to ring,
May well afford to mortal ear
An impulse more profoundly dear
Than music of the spring.
But list! though winter storms be nigh
Unchecked is that soft harmony:
There lives Who can provide,
For all his creatures: and in Him,
Even like the radiant Seraphim,
These choristers confide.
Wordsworth.
THE LARK.
Happy, happy liver,
With a soul as strong as a mountain river,
Pouring out praises to the Almighty Giver.
Wordsworth.