The lion fierce shall fondle the lamb, When men shall follow the great I Am, And wolf shall play with the sportive kid, When earth of hate and murder is rid— When the great and small shall learn to be mild, In the kingdom of Christ and a little child.
It is time to be revived, And the tourists have arrived, The Robins from the land of snow and ice, By the score and by the hundred; So many that I’ve wondered Where plenteous food could be, and paradise.
But listen to their cheering, For there’s no profiteering, In mulberry and stately cabbage palm; Instead the trees would say: “We’re ready for this day, And welcome birds and people to our balm.
“We’ve endured the blazing sun, Through the summer for the fun Of freest song and abundant feasting fine; While you yourselves employ, In song and sumptuous joy, Remember we are drinking Heaven’s wine.
“’Tis better far to live, That we may freely give— Far better and more God-like in us all. See Black-birds fly around, Alighting on the ground, While the Mocking-birds’ hosannahs loudly call.
“And yonder in the waters free, Blue Herons and white Egrets see; Thus far have they escaped the tyrant, Pride. The Ducks are diving for their food, And, hit or miss, they still are good— In all no groom unfriendly to his bride!
“The Cardinal and Wren, From farthest hill and glen, Have joined the busy Downy in a tree; While other birds delight In song from morn till night— Come, sing aloud and join our jubilee!”
In a pullman smoker the tourists sat, All reading the news of the day, When suddenly started a lively chat On the League and the Wilson way.
The travellers argued with their _pro_ and _con_; And loudly and fiercely they swore; While some of them tired, and others looked wan, And I was silent and sore.
For the Easter season was drawing nigh, And I was perusing “Life;” My soul was nursing an inward cry; And I hated the oaths and strife—
The war of words on the blessing of peace, And taking God’s name in vain; From the turmoil I craved a quick release, From the hellish noise on the train;
When suddenly came two lovely tots, With the father a-near their side; Then lo, there ceased the fiery shots; The children had turned the tide.
Like a sun-burst bright on a stormy morn, Like flowers in the valley of death, The children advanced, and joy was born, With the sweetness of Heaven’s breath.