My Song

EUGENIA M. FOSBERY

I READ a book of poems to-day,
And then I said, I too will write a song,
For I am likewise thrilled by lilting bird,
And summer sky, and racing cloud, and feathery tree.

But as I sit with pen in hand
My thoughts all turn to God.
The wide expanse of mountain blue
Soft melting into dim horizon sings to me:
"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,
"From whence cometh my help.
"My help cometh from the Lord,
"Which made heaven and earth."

In the garden below, the long tapering fingers
Of the dark green eucalyptus leaves
Trail over the pink garden wall with gentle sound;
And I note that each sturdy camphor tree,
Whose fresh green foliage shines in the warm sunlight,
Has whorls that have burned to ruddy brown.
A tiny song-sparrow sits aloft
Pouring forth sweet notes from throbbing throat.
Does he not speak to me of the goodness of God,
The love of the Father for His creatures, great and small?
For not a sparrow falleth without His tender care.

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