THE ALASKAN SPARROW. 



There's a far-away country, a wonderful land 



That the twilight loves best, where the finger of God 



Touched the land into shadows; unlighted they stand 

 As they stood at the first over-ocean and sod, 



And the cloud and the mountain are one; all unheard 



Is the murmur of trafific, the sigh of unrest, 

 And the King of the land is a golden-crowned bird 



With a robe of plain brown and an ashy-gray vest. 



Where the shadows are deepest a musical sound 



Cleaves their darkness, the song of the golden-crowned King. 



Never day is so dark but the sweet notes are heard. 

 Never forest so dense but the melodies ring. 



Sing on, little King of the twilight land, sing, 



Thy kingdom extend through the oncoming days. 



Till the spaces between us with music shall ring, 



And the world hush its breath but to listen and praise. 



—Nelly Hart Woodworth. 



56 



