At Morn

IDA FLORENCE SAWYER

I was aware
Of faint, brief rustlings
And things astir,
As aspen leaves set quiv'ring by the breeze
And low, sweet murmurings among the trees.
A distant cheep—an echo near:
Then, high above the twitterings,
A long, sweet note—
The day is here!

So, to my soul
Come these strange stirrings
Of night far spent.
My waiting heart perceives the first faint gleams
That pierce the mists of earth's drear shadowings.
Be still, and know—"desire is prayer;"*^{"Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures" by Mary Baker Eddy, page 1.}
See, God's day is here,
No night is there!

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