Birds cannot always sing;
Silence at times they ask, to nurse spent feeling;
To see some new, bright thing,
Ere afresh burst of song, fresh joy revealing.
Flowers cannot always blow;
Some sabbath-rest they need of silent winter;
Ere from its sheath below
Shoots up a small, green blade, brown earth to splinter.
Tongues cannot always speak;
O God! in this loud world of noise and clatter,
Save us this once-a-week,
To let the sown seed grow, not always scatter.
