ARBOR DA Y MAXL'AL. 2 1 9 



THE ROBIN. 



MY old Welch neighbor over the way 

 Crept slowly out in the sun of spring, 

 Pushed from her ears the locks of gray, 

 And listened to hear the robin sing. 



Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped, 



And cruel in sport as boys will be, 

 Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped 



From bough to bough in the apple tree. 



Nay ! " said the grandmother; " have you not heard, 



My poor, bad boy ! of the fiery pit, 

 And how. drop by drop, this merciful bird 



Carries the water that quenches it ? 



' He brings cool dew in his little bill, 



And lets it fall on the souls of sin ; 

 You can see the mark on his red breast still 

 Of fires that scorch as he drops it in. 



' My poor bron rhuddyn ! my breast-burned bird, 



Singing so sweetly from limb to limb, 

 Very dear to the heart of our Lord 



Is he who pities the lost like him ! " 



' Amen ! " I said to the beautiful myth ; 



" Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well ; 

 Each good thought is a drop wherewith 

 To cool and lessen the fires of hell. 



Prayers of love like rain drops fall, 



Tears of pity are cooling dew, 

 And dear to the heart of our Lord are all 



Who suffer like Him in the good they do ! 



WHITTIER. 



The sounding cataract 

 Haunted me like a passion ; the tall rock, 

 The mountain and the deep and gloomy wood, 

 Their colors and their forms, were then to me 

 An appetite. 



WORDSWORTH'S 7 "intern Abbey. 



