And with the feathered choir all the year long;
Happy each child of thine,
Blest with thy gifts divine,
Charming our senses, sweet Spirit of Song!




Ada Cambridge.



What of the Night?


To you, who look below,
Where little candles glow --
Who listen in a narrow street,
Confused with noise of passing feet --

To you 'tis wild and dark;
No light, no guide, no ark,
For travellers lost on moor and lea,
And ship-wrecked mariners at sea.

But they who stand apart,
With hushed but wakeful heart --
They hear the lulling of the gale,
And see the dawn-rise faint and pale.