Poems (Hornblower)/Lines (Sweet warbling Bird! I cannot sing like thee)
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For works with similar titles, see Lines.
LINES.
Sweet warbling Bird! I cannot sing like thee,
Who, with that clear and liquid harmony,
Thrilling thy little throat,
A chorus so divine dost raise
To thy Supreme Creator's praise,
Love quivering in each note.
Who, with that clear and liquid harmony,
Thrilling thy little throat,
A chorus so divine dost raise
To thy Supreme Creator's praise,
Love quivering in each note.
I cannot hid the morning breezes greet
A strain so rich, and so elastic sweet,
As thou dost throw around—
Till every crisped zephyr there,
That takes its circuit in the air,
Delighted drinks the sound.
A strain so rich, and so elastic sweet,
As thou dost throw around—
Till every crisped zephyr there,
That takes its circuit in the air,
Delighted drinks the sound.
One only offering can I impart—
From the still fountains of a happy heart.
A gush of gratitude—
Which, while thy praises thrill the sky,
Haply with them may rise on high,
And through heaven's gate intrude.
From the still fountains of a happy heart.
A gush of gratitude—
Which, while thy praises thrill the sky,
Haply with them may rise on high,
And through heaven's gate intrude.
Take then, O Father! this the music clear,
Which in my breast I ever reverent hear,
Breathing thy glorious name;
And touch the chords within, until they rise
With purer, deeper, holier melodies,
To Thee, from whom they came!
Which in my breast I ever reverent hear,
Breathing thy glorious name;
And touch the chords within, until they rise
With purer, deeper, holier melodies,
To Thee, from whom they came!