Page:Poems Thaxter.djvu/90

Thou little bird, how canst thou thus rejoice,
 As if the world had known nor sin nor curse?
God never meant to mock us with that voice!
 That is the key-note of the universe,
That song of perfect trust, of perfect cheer,
Courageous, constant, free of doubt or fear.

My little helper, ah, my comrade sweet,
 My old companion in that far off time
When on life's threshold childhood's wingéd feet
 Danced in the sunrise! Joy was at its prime
When all my heart responded to thy song,
Unconscious of earth's discords harsh and strong.

Now, grown aweary, sad with change and loss,
 With the enigma of myself dismayed;
Poor, save in deep desire to bear the cross
 God's hand on his defenseless creatures laid,
With patience,—here I sit this eve of spring,
And listen with bowed head, while thou dost sing.

And slowly all my soul with comfort fills,
 And the old hope revives and courage grows;
Up the deserted shore a fresh tide thrills,
 And like a dream the dark mood melts and goes,
And with thy joy again will I rejoice:
God never meant to mock us with that voice!