must end with thoughts of the dewy chimes that rang from 
the mottled throats of the Russet-backed Thrushes. 
Blessed be the man who draws apart 
Far from the throng and busy mart, 
Remote from paths that man hath trod 
And there communes with Nature’s God; 
No chimes to bid him bow in prayer 
No choir save warblers of the air, 
With heart attuned to nature’s call 
He feels his oneness with it all, | 
-— Nina Moore ~ 
109 
