A Song In The Evening

O sweetest bird that ever sang In notes of wild rejoicing; Thine even-song as first it rang, Was thrilling in its voicing!

I felt thy rapture as I heard Thy song in all its beauty; To me it scarce seemed but a bird; 'Twas life, and love, and duty!

I could not see thy tiny form, As softly closed the gloaming; And like a wanderer in the storm My heart was blindly roaming.

While, as thy song rang pure and clear O'er sweet smell of the haying, Mem'ry sped back through many a year, Both light and shade displaying.

And still thy notes of reed-like tone Came clear o'er mead and river, With tender meaning all its own, And trilled and trilled forever!

"O heart," it sang, "let thine own life Become a song to others, That thou mayst count them in the strife Not alien, but as brothers!

Sing on, sing on, thy notes repeat, Sing life, and love, and duty, That mystic three whose names replete Are e'er with heavenly beauty.

Sing life, the gift of ray divine That pierced the gloom of even; The first upon our path to shine, A heritage of Heaven!

And love--oh, what were life without This second gift eternal, That bids the glad earth blossom out In summer's garb supernal!

Yet love and life were both in vain Were duty not a flower That springs beneath the blesséd rain To crown Life's darkest hour!"

Not unto me a bird, that eve, In notes of earth was singing, But a pure voice its way did cleave From Heaven its message bringing!