"Where is God my Maker, Who giveth songs in the night."--Bible.
The hour of midnight had swept past,
The city bell tolled three,
The moon had sank behind the clouds,
No rustling in the tree.
All, all was silent as the grave,
And memories of the tomb,
Had banished sweet sleep far away,
All spoke of tears and gloom.
When suddenly upon the air.
Rang out a sweet bird's song,
No feeble, weak, uncertain note,
No plaint of grief or wrong,
No "Miserere Domine,"
No "Dies Irea" sad,
But "Gloria in Excelsis" rang,
In accents wild and glad.
How could he sing? a birdling caged,
And in the dark alone,
And then methought that he had seen,
Some vision from God's throne,
The little birdling's eyes were bright,
While mine with tears were dim,
Had some bright watcher glided by,
And spake in joy to him?
Then I remembered what Christ said,
The God of love's dear Son,
"Not one of these small birds forgot
Beneath the glorious sun."
They have no load of grief to bear,
Of sin no dark, deep stain,
And yet in patience take their share
Of storm, and frost and rain.
Oh, can it be unknown to us,
Without one human word,
The universal Father soothes
The death-bed of each bird;
"The whole creation groaneth," yet
These pure things of the sky,
Are they not nearer to the gates
Than mortals such as I?
Yet while I mused, it seemed some form,
Ere yet I was aware,
Bent o'er my pillow, dried my tears,
And turned to sing my prayer;
Some subtle presence unrevealed,
Seemed to repeat the words,
"Fear not, for you are dearer far,
Than many little birds."
I do not ask what seemed to speak;
Whether the angel blest,
Who hath been my appointed guard
In calm or wild unrest;
Or whether some sweet voice I love,
But hushed to me a while,
Came down on gentle mission sent,
To change for tears a smile.
It matters not; God knows faith's wings
Droop sometimes in the dust,
And hands grow weak and lose their hold
On Hope's firm anchor trust;
And so, while sending dew and rain,
And glowing sunbeams bright.
God giveth unto those who hear,
Songs in the darkest night.
