Selected
Poems
by
Frederick George Scott
EVENSONG
IN THE WOODS
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Hush,
let us say, ‘Our Father,’ in this wood,
And through bare boughs
look up into the sky,
Where fleecy clouds on autumn
winds go by.
Here, by this fallen trunk, which long since stood
And praised the Lord and Giver of all good,
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We’ll
sing ‘Magnificat.’ With curious eye,
A squirrel watches from
a branch on high,
As though he too would join us if he could.
Now in our ‘Nune Dimittis,’ soft and
low,
Strange woodland voices
mingle, one by one;
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10 |
Dead
songs of vanished birds, the sad increase
Of crumpled leaves on paths where rough winds go,
The deepening shades, the
low October sun,—
‘Lord,
let thy servant now depart in peace.’ [Page
71]
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