THE PASSING OF THE FLOCKS 219 



one of the greatest of the many mysteries of the 

 natural world, of which little is known, although 

 much is guessed, and the bright September nights 

 may reveal to us — we know not what undiscovered 

 facts. 



I see my way as birds their trackless way. 

 I shall arrive; what time, what circuit first, 

 I ask not; but unless God sends his hail 

 Of blinding fire-balls, sleet or driving snow, 

 In sometime, his good time, I shall arrive; 

 He guides me and the bird. In his good time. 



Robert Beowning. 



