Green Pastures

ETHEL M. GOSS

O CLEAR blue lake and bluer sky,
Gray rocks along the shore,
Amid the roar of the city streets
You call me evermore!

Call me where tall gray elm trees
Frame soft your picture there;
Where bobolinks sway on the grasses
With never a thought of care.

A flash of gold in the apple tree,
A flutter of wings by the wall,
And I hear the oriole's song ring out
With its old triumphant call.

The roadway winds by the meadow,
Where mulleins like sentinels stand,
And waving rows of buttercups
A green and golden band.

I hear the wind in the marshes
Rippling the sedges brown;
The gleam of the iris haunts me
In the dingy walls of the town.

They call me, but here I am needed
To heal the sorrow and wrong;
So keep in my heart, dear Father,
The joy of the oriole's song.

Cleanse Thou my thoughts and keep me
Free from the hurry and care,
Serene with the peace of Thy pastures
And ready Thy message to bear.

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September 23, 1916

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