Hush! With sudden gush As from a fountain sings in yonder bush The Hermit Thrush.

A flash of harmless lightning, A mist of rainbow dyes, The burnished sunbeams brightening From flower to flower he flies.

Out of the dusk a shadow, Then a spark; Out of the cloud a silence, Then a lark; Out of the heart a rapture, Then a pain; Out of the dead, cold ashes, Life again.

Palm Sunday I had no God but these, The sacerdotal trees, And they uplifted me, "I hung upon a Tree." The sun and moon I saw, And reverential awe Subdued me day and night, "I am the perfect light." Within a lifeless stone -- All other gods unknown -- I sought Divinity, "The Corner-stone am I." For sacrificial feast I slaughtered man and beast, Red recompense to gain. "So I a Lamb was slain." "Yea, such My hungering Grace That whereso'er My face Is hidden, none may grope Beyond eternal Hope.".

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.