The Hermit Thrush
Emily Tolman
In the deep, solemn wood, at dawn I hear
A voice serene, and pure, now far, now near,
Singing sweetly, singing slowly,
Holy; oh, holy, holy;
Again at evening hush, now near, now far
Oh, tell me, art thou voice of bird or star?
Sounding sweetly, sounding slowly,
Holy; oh, holy, holy.
