so BIRD PARADISE 



there is the response of half a dozen species of 

 birds. It ripples away down into the meadow 

 below like the wandering murmur of the brook. 

 I can hear the members of the great choir joining 

 in the refrain until thirty and more different 

 species are greeting the sun, "rejoicing to run its 

 course." Curious that this offering of the birds 

 is never twice alike. Curious, too, that there are 

 no discords. The choirs that are trained in the 

 great temple of nature sing out of the heart, and 

 heart singing is sure of its footing always. A 

 favorite nook of mine when all nature is clapping 

 its hands together is down by the old cemetery 

 where I get the music of both the field and wood 

 birds. I like to fancy the entire scene as a great 

 offering of real worship — a multitude of ways and 

 forms, every one in its proper place, and all look- 

 ing up. No contention among the birds about 

 the way of getting into the Father's house or of 

 the way of getting to His heart when they are 

 once in the house. Their offering in some ways 

 is my offering in them. It takes the parson to 

 the gates wide open, where the morning stars still 

 sing together, and will forever. 



I have just seen a bird known in the books as 

 the brown creeper. He has many of the habits 



