SHINGLE-SHORT
(Runs out, and presently returns with a feather, which he sticks in the funnel.)
’Fraid poor Clucky woke
Painful, but this here, see, ’s for smoke.
There! Now the whole live world can rip,
For now you’re finish’d: you’re a Ship!
....It’s hot!
(Opens the window.)
Why, Rain, when did you cease?
....Ain’t there a beauty stillness? Hush!
All the whole valley’s full o’ peace.
On’y a [1]morepork in the Bush,
On’y the callin’ o’ the creek....
An’ there’s the stars, all cool an’ clean,
Where never any dirt has been,
A-hangin’, steady an’ serene....
Kind of a fam’ly mast-head light
To God’s great steamer o’ the World,
A-travellin’ on across the night.
Eh! when He’d got the thought o’ that,
An’ work’d it perfeck at His ease,
An’ finish’d up with lightin’ you:
When that big Thought had all come pat,
An’ lay there, livin’, on His knees,
With every fittin’ right an’ tight,
Everythin’ workin’ good an’ true—
Lord God! Whatever did You do?
..Say!..there’s my ship in there. You know!
(Thank God! You always do know, plain;
You never dog me, to “explain”.)—
Oh, what am I to be so blest?
Why am I pick’d from all the rest,
- ↑ Morepork: The New Zealand owl.
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