S4A WILD SCENES AND SONG-BIEDS. 
That comes whence orient stars do spring — 
That Cometh in burnish of silver and gold, 
Through shining mists, to tell as of old, 
The story the lowly flowers have told, 
How Hope was pinioned, in glory, to fling 
The dawn of her future on every high thing ! 
Like a meek-ej^ed thing, 
With wing all blue. 
That comes from a Temple where hearts are true — 
That comes from a Temple so vast, 
That when at last 
Earth goes like a dot. 
There lives not an archangel 
Can tell you the spot 
Where the poor thing should dwell ! 
Like a glorious thing, 
With scarlet wing, 
That flasliing doth dazzle mortal eye — 
That soaring, and soaring, still soaring doth sing, 
Grod is gleamed off from my flashing wing. 
See him, poor mortal, though blinded, and sing. 
God sent his Justice a right hand to stain 
In the blood of a Christ, that ye might remain 
To work out his glory, and cease from all pain. 
Till sorrow and sadness, 
Horror and madness. 
Give way to gladness 
And cherubic strain ! 
Joy ! 0 Joy ! then as Winter must go. 
Spring must be coming for poor souls below ! 
