16^ GREAT BINDWEED. 



Matins and even songs, why are ye forgotten ? 

 Ringing throughout all time. On earth, in air, 

 O'er waters murmuring, or through glen or valley, 

 Some notes are heard, swelling at mom or eve 

 With louder descant when all else is still ; 

 Save such calm sounds as silence loves to hear : 

 Be they of whispering winds or tuneful birds. 

 Heard loudest when the young day looketh forth 

 Above the hills, and stars begin to blink ; 

 And twilight and her mists slowly withdraw 

 From off the grey hills, and the groves and streams : 

 Or when she cometh back, with all her train 

 Of dews and wreathing mists, and kindling stars 

 Studding the heavens — though pale and dimly 



seen. 

 Oh ! then the vespers that glad birds may sing 

 Are heard in all their fulness, warbling thanks 

 To Him who made them ; whose sustaining hand 

 Upholds their little lives, and bids them range 

 'Mid groves, o'er plains, by streamlets, making glad 

 The solitary places, where all sounds 

 Are hush'd as midnight, saving winds and streams. 



