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A poem by Jared Barhite

The Thrush

Title:     The Thrush
Author: Jared Barhite [More Titles by Barhite]

When on mountain road I travel,
Stained with dust and dirt and gravel,
In cool shade I sit me down;
Oft I see among the bushes
Feathered friends--shy brown thrushes,
Sweetest singers of renown.

Smooth his coat though brown and dusty,
His mellow voice is ever trusty
And clear and soft and sweet;
On the tree-top oft he's singing,
In the woods his voice is ringing
While hills his notes repeat.

I have heard him in the morning
When the sun was just adorning
Tops of tallest forest trees,
Pour his soul of song so tender,
That to God he seemed to render
Thanksgiving harmonies.

Every feather he did quiver,
As his song he would deliver
In bursts so wild and grand,
That creation's face would gladden
As the air with music laden
Seemed fraught with choral band.

Some notes that swelled his speckled breast
Were like soft zephyrs from the west
That fall on June-blown flowers;
So full, so sweet, they lull the soul,
And like a spirit voice control
My reveries for hours.

Soulful song, enwrapped in feather,
Harbinger of pleasant weather,
Sing softly unto me.
Your tuneful notes at morn and even
Are antepasts of joys in heaven
That bring felicity.

Attune your joyous song for me,
And lift my soul that it may see
The world in beauty bright;
Sing on, sing on, until the wood
Shall laugh aloud in merry mood,
And sadness take her flight!

Sweet warbling bird in brown attire,
Your notes of praise do me inspire
With love for Nature wild;
Your songs of joy so sweetly sung,
By heart and throat divinely strung,
Proclaim you Nature's child.

[The end]
Jared Barhite's poem: Thrush