whisper of an angel holding converse with the spring, under the blue
arch of heaven. The Child had seen the earth-coloured little bird
rise up before him, and it seemed to him as if the earth had sent
her forth from her bosom as a messenger to carry her joy and her
thanks up to the sun, because he had turned his beaming countenance
again upon her in love and bounty. And the lark hung poised above
the hope-giving field, and warbled her clear and joyous song.

She sang of the loveliness of the rosy dawn, and the fresh
brilliancy of the earliest sunbeams; of the gladsome springing of
the young flowers, and the vigorous shooting of the corn; and her
song pleased the Child beyond measure.

But the lark wheeled in higher and higher circles, and her song
sounded softer and sweeter.

And now she sang of the first delights of early love; of wanderings
together on the sunny fresh hilltops, and of the sweet pictures and
visions that arise out of the blue and misty distance. The Child
understood not rightly what he heard, and fain would he have
understood, for he thought that even in such visions must be
wondrous delight. He gazed aloft after the unwearied bird, but she
had disappeared in the morning mist.

Then the Child leaned his head on one shoulder to listen if he could
no longer hear the little messenger of spring; and he could just
catch the distant and quivering notes in which she sang of the
fervent longing after the clear element of freedom, after the pure
all-present light, and of the blessed foretaste of this desired
enfranchisement, of this blending in the sea of celestial happiness.