76 Bird Day Book 



A GROSBEAK IN THE GARDEN 



WHEN through the heaviness and clamoring throng 

 Of mortal ways I hear the mellow song 

 Of birds, the birds seem sent to me. 

 If this be my insanity, 

 As men will measure it — so let it be ! 



When shadows that no will can drive away 

 Entomb me, then no sermon blesseth day, 

 More true and sweet than that pure note 

 My ear hath caught afloat 

 From out the garden grosbeak's fervent throat. 



Thou, crimson-caped messenger of God, 

 Seem'st not to feel the thorned and bitter rod 

 Of Life — thy hours are joyously beguiled 

 With melodies so wild! 

 In sooth, thy creed is trusting as a child! 



Full knowing that thy living days are brief 

 Thou grudgest even an hour for sober grief ; 

 Thy poems are scattered free, without a name, 

 Nor hast thou thought of fame ! 

 Is my unpaid aspiring yet my blame ? 



The world is wide 'twixt man and worlds divine, 

 And hearts are dull to such a song as thine ; 

 But I have heard. Sing on, from tree to tree, 

 As thou has sung to me, — 

 And more shall find the God that guideth thee ! 

 Ivan Swift, Harbor Springs, Michigan. 



