The Robin-All Is Brahman

[Guest guest]

THE ROBIN

 

My old Welsh neighbor over the way

Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,pushed from her ears the locks

of gray,and listened to hear the robins sing.Her grandson, playing at

marbles,stopped,And, cruel in sport as boys will be,Tossed a stone at

the bird, who hoppedFrom bough to bough in the apple-tree."Nay!" said

the grandmother, "have you not heard,My poor, bad boy! Of the fiery

pit,And how, drop by drop, this merciful birdCarries the water that

quenches it?"He brings cool dew in his little bill,and lets it fall

on the souls of sin:You can see the mark on his red breast stillOf

fires that scorch as he drops it in."My poor Bron rhuddyn! My

breast-burned bird,Singing so sweetly from limb to limb,Very dear to

the heart of Our LordIs he who pities the lost like Him!""Amen! I

said to the beautiful myth;"Sing, bird of God, in my heart as

well:Each good thought is a drop wherewithTo cool and lessen the

fires of hell."Prayers of love like rain-drops fall,Tears of Pity are

cooling dew,And dear to the heart of Our Lord are allWho suffer like

Him in the good they do!"

 

 

 

-John Greenleaf WhittierOn Winds of Song-Poems About Birds

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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