AN UNFINISHED SONG. "Cantat Deo qui vivit Deo." 7ES, he was well-nigh gone and near his rest, YES, The year could not renew him; nor the cry Of building nightingales about the nest ; Nor that soft freshness of the May-wind's sigh, That fell before the garden scents, and died But death not yet. Outside a woman talked- A cage that hung amid the jasmine stars Trembled a little, and a blossom dropped. Then notes came pouring through the wicker bars, Climbed half a rapid arc of song, and stopped. "Is it a thrush ?" I asked. "A thrush," she said. "That was Will's tune. Will taught him that before He left the doorway settle for his bed, Sick as you see, and could n't teach him more. "He'd bring his Bible here o' nights, would Will, "Jack! Jack!" A joyous flutter stirred the cage, How clear the song was! Musing as I heard, The broken song, the uncompleted life, That seemed a broken song; and of the two, My thought a moment deemed the bird more blest, That, when the sun shone, sang the notes it knew, Without desire or knowledge of the rest. Nay, happier man. For him futurity Still hides a hope that this his earthly praise Finds heavenly end, for surely will not He, Solver of all, above his Flower of Days, Teach him the song that no one living knows? Let the man die, with that half-chant of his,What Now discovers not Hereafter shows, And God will surely teach him more than this. Again the Bird. I turned, and passed along; But Time and Death, Eternity and Change, Talked with me ever, and the climbing song Rose in my hearing, beautiful and strange. HE THE CHILD-MUSICIAN. E had played for his lordship's levee, Till the poor little head was heavy, And the face grew peaked and eerie, But at dawn, when the birds were waking, 'Twas a string of his violoncello, And they heard him stir in his bed :-"Make room for a tired little fellow, Kind God!" was the last that he said. THE CRADLE. WOW steadfastly she'd worked at it! With all her would-be-mother's wit That little rosy nest! How longingly she'd hung on it !— He came at last, the tiny guest, Her coffin was his bed. |