Poems (Bradford)/The wind in the pines

by Bernice Margaret Bradford

THE WIND IN THE PINES.

The wind is blowing through the pines
 That stand like sentinels of God;
It sounds like distant chapel chimes
 In a church by man untrod.

O wind in the pines, you wring my heart
 With a feeling of exquisite pain!
I hear you sigh as in days gone by,
 And I long for the pines again.

The pines are standing straight and tall
 With spires that touch the sky;
And deep in my heart I shrine them al!
 With a love that will not die.

In fancy I see what I saw as a child—
 A forest of pines on fire;
The wind is blowing fierce and wild;
 It roars like an organ choir.

The red flames leap to the very crest;
 They crackle and roar in glee;
They fill with fright the adult breast,
 But they bring no fear to me.

They stand like flaming swords of light
 'Gainst a black and inky sky;
The stars grow dim and hide their light,
 And the wind goes rushing by.

But the One who watches over all,
 Brings us safely to our goal;
Though the flames leap high and the great pines fall,
 They harm not a human soul.

O wind in the pines you bring me dreams
 Of the pale blue April days;
Of the shy sweet mayflower's gentle beams;
 Of the cardinal flower ablaze.

Of asters blue and golden-rod,
 And October's purple haze,
As I sit and dream of the Michigan pines
 In the autumn of my days.

O wind in the pines, blow on! blow on!
 I love your mournful tones
As I love the sound of Michigan's waves,
 Lapping over the stones.

Blow on! blow on! wind in the pines!
 May your murmurs never cease!
The thought of the pines in my memory shines,
 Like a vision of lasting peace.