And after perhaps a half an hour of in
tense solitude, there will be a tap of a
beak on a tree branch far up sounding like
the tap oi a musical baton, and then first
there will be a solo, followed by a duet or
quartet, ami afterwards by doxologies in
all the tree tops and amid all lite branches
and if you have a Bible along with you
and yon can without rustling the leaves,
turn to the 14.8th Psalm of David, and
read: “Praise the Lord, beasts, and all
cattle, creeping things and Hying fowl,”
and then turn over quietly to my text,
and read, “By them shall the fowls of the
heaven have their habitation, which sing
among the branches;” or, if under the
power of the bird voices you are trans
pored, ns when Dr. Worgan played so
powerfully on the organ at St. John's
that Richard Cecil said he was in such
blessed bewilderment, he could not find in
his Bide the first chapter of Isaiah, though
he leafed the book over and over, and you
shall be so overcome with forest harmony
that yon cannot find the Psalms of David,
never mind, lor God will speak to you so
mightily, it will make no difference whether
you hear his voice from the printed page
or the vibrating throat of one of his plumed
crea t ores.
