A Different Song

In the dusky shades of twilight
As my fingers touch the strings,
Comes a little bird to listen -
Listen till I'm done, then sings.
His are not the words of mortal,
Nor the notes by staff and bar.
His a song far more entrancing
Than the chords of a guitar!
Ah, my lovely little songster!
I do not esteem it odd.
Mine, the broken song of mortals;
Yours, the sweeter voice of God.

by Mary E. Durham

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