396

THE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN.

Fathers engaged with their daily labours in the fields and woods. How gratifying would it be to me could I be assured that any portion of these stanzas had been sung by such a domestic concert under such circumstances. A friend of mine has told me that she introduced this Hymn into a village-school which she superintended, and the stanzas in succession furnished her with texts to comment upon in a way which without difficulty was made intelligible to the children, and in which they obviously took delight, and they were taught to sing it to the tune of the old 100th Psalm.]

Up to the throne of God is borne
The voice of praise at early morn,
And he accepts the punctual hymn
Sung as the light of day grows dim:

Nor will he turn his ear aside
From holy offerings at noontide :
Then here reposing let us raise
A song of gratitude and praise.

What though our burthen be not light,
We need not toil from morn to night;
The respite of the mid-day hour
Is in the thankful Creature's power.

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Are with a ready heart bestowed
Upon the service of our God!

Each field is then a hallowed spot,1

An altar is in each man's cot,

A church in every grove that spreads
Its living roof above our heads.

1

1845.

Why should we crave a hallowed spot?

1835.

THE REDBREAST.

Look up to heaven! the industrious Sun
Already half his race hath run;

He cannot halt nor go astray,
But our immortal Spirits may.

Lord! since his rising in the East,
If we have faltered or transgressed,
Guide, from thy love's abundant source,
What yet remains of this day's course:

Help with thy grace, through life's short day,
Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest.

397

[Written at Rydal Mount. All our cats having been banished the house, it was soon frequented by redbreasts. Two or three of them, when the window was open, would come in, particularly when Mrs Wordsworth was breakfasting alone, and hop about the table picking up the crumbs. My sister being then confined to her room by sickness, as, dear creature, she still is, had one that, without being caged, took up its abode with her, and at night used to perch upon a nail from which a picture had hung. It used to sing and fan her face with its wings in a manner that was very touching.]

DRIVEN in by Autumn's sharpening air

From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,
Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home:

Not like a beggar is he come,

But enters as a looked-for guest,
Confiding in his ruddy breast,

As if it were a natural shield

Charged with a blazon on the field,

398

THE REDBREAST.

Due to that good and pious deed
Of which we in the Ballad read.
But pensive fancies putting by,
And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
He plays the expert ventriloquist;

And, caught by glimpses now-now missed,
Puzzles the listener with a doubt

If the soft voice he throws about

Comes from within doors or without!
Was ever such a sweet confusion,
Sustained by delicate illusion?

He's at your elbow-to your feeling
The notes are from the floor or ceiling;
And there's a riddle to be guessed,

Till you have marked his heaving chest
And busy throat whose sink and swell1
Betray the Elf that loves to dwell
In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.

Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird
If seen, and with like pleasure stirred
Commend him, when he's only heard.
But small and fugitive our gain
Compared with hers who long hath lain,
With languid limbs and patient head
Reposing on a lone sick-bed;

Where now, she3 daily hears a strain

THE REDBREAST.

That cheats her1 of too busy cares,
Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.2
And who but this dear Bird beguiled
The fever of that pale-faced Child
Now cooling, with his passing wing,
Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring
Recalling now, with descant soft
Shed round her pillow from aloft,
Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh,
And the invisible sympathy

Of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John
Blessing the bed she lies upon ?'*
And sometimes, just as listening ends
In slumber, with the cadence blends
A dream of that, low-warbled hymn
Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
Lamps of faith, now burning dim,
Say that the Cherubs carved in stone,
When clouds gave way at dead of night
And the ancient church was filled with light,3
Used to sing in heavenly tone,

Above and round the sacred places

They guard, with winged baby-faces.

399

1S35.

1835.

1835.

are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the northern counties.-W. W., 1835.

400

THE REDBREAST.

Thrice happy Creature! in all lands.
Nurtured by hospitable hands:

Free entrance to this cot has he,
Entrance and exit both yet free;
And, when the keen unruffled weather
That thus brings man and bird together,
Shall with its pleasantness be past,
And casement closed and door made fast,
To keep at bay the howling blast,
He needs not fear the season's rage,
For the whole house is Robin's cage.
Whether the bird flit here or there,
O'er table lilt, or perch on chair,
Though some may frown and make a stir
To scare him as a trespasser,

And he belike will flinch or start,
Good friends he has to take his part;

One chiefly, who with voice and look
Pleads for him from the chimney-nook,
Where sits the Dame, and wears away
Her long and vacant holiday;
With images about her heart,
Reflected from the years gone by

On human nature's second infancy.