And when their holy anthems
Come pealing through the air,
Our hearts leap forth to meet them
With a blessing and a prayer.
Amid the morning’s fragrant dew,
Amid the mists of even,
They warble on as if they drew
Their music down from heaven.
How sweetly sounds each mellow note
Beneath the moon’s pale ray,
When dying zephyrs rise and float
Like lovers’ sighs away!”
THE RESPLENDENT TROGON.
A Letter to Little Boys and Girls of the United States.
Is it cold where you live, little boys and girls? It is not where I live. Don’t you think my feathers grew in the bright sunshine?
My home is way down where the big oceans almost meet. The sun is almost straight overhead every noon.
I live in the woods, way back where the trees are tall and thick. I don’t fly around much, but sit on a limb of a tree way up high.