THE NORTHERN NIGHTINGALE. 



(Gambel Sparrow.) 



Hush, my heart and let me listen; 

 Where dewy boughs in moonlight glisten, 

 Sways and swings in happy dreaming 

 Though waking oft, exultant seeming. 

 For the sake of his' love in the green fir tree, 

 The little gray bird in the still night sings, 

 "Sweet, sweet won't you listen to me? 

 Sweet, sweet, so rich are we." 



"Sweet, sweet, won't you listen to me?" 



A nest so low in the green fir tree, 



A little gray bird in the nest beneath. 



All circled round with a honeysuckle wreath; 



O hush! be still my beating heart. 



The little gray bird takes up his part, 



"Sweet, sweet, so rich my dearie. 



So rich my dear and nothing fear we." 



The night goes on and the moon sinks low, 

 The sky in the east begins to glow. 

 The boughs in the breeze move to and fro, 

 A little gray bird in joy now sings 

 "Sweet, sweet, the night was eerie. 

 Sweet, sweet, awake my dearie." 

 And all day long he sways and swings 

 The zephyr again the question brings, 

 "Sweet, sweet won't you listen to me? 

 Sweet, sweet, so rich are we." 



E. Inez Denny, Seattle, Wash. 



