Towards democracy

The Songs of the Birds 377

Save man—slight man!

He, Cain-like from the calm eyes of the Angels,

In hauses hiding, in huge gas-lighted offices and dens, in ponderous churches,

Beset with darkness, cowers ;

And like some hunted criminal torments his brain

For fresh means of escape, continually ;

Builds thicker higher walls, ramparts of stone and gold, piles flesh and skins of slaughtered beasts,

‘Twixt him and that he fears ;

FPeyers himself with plans, works harder and harder,

And wanders far and farther from the goal.

And still the great World waits by the door as ever,

The great World stretching endlessly on every hand, in deep on deep of fathomless content—

Where sing the Moming-stars in joy together,

And all things are at home.

Tue Sones or THE Birps, wHo Hears

HE songs of the birds, who hears? in the high trees calling, All the long noon high calling 2Tn the meadows below them the wind runs over the grass, the shadows lengthen. Who sees, who hears e—