Page:A La California.djvu/46

34  Now, close by the tomb, a fair tree grew, With pendulous leaves and blossoms of blue; And deep in the green tree's shadowy breast A beautiful singing-bird on her nest, Which was bordered with mosses like malachite And held four eggs of an ivory white.

Now, when the bird from her dim recess Beheld the Lord in his burial dress, And looked on the heavenly face so pale, And the dear feet pierced with the cruel nail, Her heart now broke with a sudden pang And out of the depth of her sorrow she sang.

All night long, till the moon was up, She sat and sang in her moss-wreathed cup A song of sorrow, as wild and shrill As the homeless wind when it ioams the hill; So full of tears, so loud and long, That the grief of the world seemed turned to song.

But soon there came, through the weeping night, A glimmering angel clothed in white; And he rolled the stone from the tomb away, Where the Lord of the earth and the heavens lay; And Christ arose in the cavern's gloom, And in living lustre came from the tomb.

Now the bird that sat in the heart of the tree Beheld the celestial mystery, And its heart was filled with a sweet delight, And it poured a song on the throbbing night; Notes climbing notes, still higher, higher, They shoot to heaven like spears of fire.

When the glittering, white-robed angel heard The sorrowing song of that grieving bird, And heard the following chant of mirth, That hailed Christ, risen from the earth, He said, 'Sweet bird, be forever blest; Thyself, thy eggs, and thy moss-wreathed nest.'

And ever, my child, since that blessed night, When death bowed down to the Lord of light,