A Book on Birds 



Love Divine 



O Love Divine! — He came, and gently singing 



At earliest dawn in secret to a bird, 

 Thrilled it with joy till it awoke, and winging 

 Its way aloft, proclaimed Him with no word, 

 Yet surely, sweetly, by the holy sign 

 Of His own melody. O Love Divine! 



Then, in a little while, bent low and kneeling 



Deep in a leafy wood with dew bedight. 

 He lured a wilding flower forth, unsealing 



Its tomb with living touch, and toward the light 

 Turning its face, that these dull eyes of mine 

 Might trace His presence too. Love Divine! 



Nor this alone: but, where angelic fingers 



Wove pearl and rose amidst the orchard trees. 

 He came again — to breathe the breath that lingers, 

 When Spring is at the flood, on every breeze; 

 That, deaf and sightless, I might not repine. 

 But still discover Him. Love Divine! 



And then — e'en at my hearth — when day was ended, 



And in the dusk I soothed my suffering child. 

 He, crowning all His tenderness, descended 

 Once more, unseen, and where I sat beguiled 

 The little one to sleep. ''Ah — else than Thine — 

 There is no heaven!" I cried: Thou Love Divine! 



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