Poems (Angier)/Wonderings
For works with similar titles, see Wonderings.
WONDERINGS.
Where do the birds hide at night?
When their soaring and singing are done.
Where do they wait for the morning light—
For the first golden gleam of the sun?
When their soaring and singing are done.
Where do they wait for the morning light—
For the first golden gleam of the sun?
Where do the birds hide at night?
When stairs looking down from the skies,
Like sentinels watch o'er the sleeping earth;
Then, where do birds close their bright eyes?
When stairs looking down from the skies,
Like sentinels watch o'er the sleeping earth;
Then, where do birds close their bright eyes?
Where do the birds hide at night?
Or, when rages the pitiless storm,
Doth any one care for the fowls of the air,
And shelter them safe from all harm?
Or, when rages the pitiless storm,
Doth any one care for the fowls of the air,
And shelter them safe from all harm?
Where do the birds hide at night?
Who taught them to fold their fleet wings?
Who purifies the ray of the dawning day?
Whence cometh the peace that from penitence springs?
Who taught them to fold their fleet wings?
Who purifies the ray of the dawning day?
Whence cometh the peace that from penitence springs?
Who numbers those orbs that shed light on all lands?
Who looseth Orion's bright silvery bands?
Who knoweth the place where the lost Pleiad hides?
Why sway 'neath yon moon the swift answering tides?
Who looseth Orion's bright silvery bands?
Who knoweth the place where the lost Pleiad hides?
Why sway 'neath yon moon the swift answering tides?
Where do the birds hide at night?
O! when will our wonderings end?
Thou ocean—what holds back thy slumbering might?
Ye clouds—how in drops do your treasures descend?
O! when will our wonderings end?
Thou ocean—what holds back thy slumbering might?
Ye clouds—how in drops do your treasures descend?
Who steers the black cloud with the thunderbolt riven?
Who guides the white soul on its pathway to heaven?
And who, in the fathomless depths of the sea,
Bids pearls faintly image His own Purity?
Who guides the white soul on its pathway to heaven?
And who, in the fathomless depths of the sea,
Bids pearls faintly image His own Purity?
Who perfumes the lily—who painteth the rose?
Who hushes sad hearts to a holy repose?
Though answer these questions the wise may aright
Still, I wondering ask—where the birds hide at night?
Who hushes sad hearts to a holy repose?
Though answer these questions the wise may aright
Still, I wondering ask—where the birds hide at night?