Thea, Max, do you remember that night "
"We need not remember any more," M'Leod interrupted. "It is not
our trouble. They have told each other now."
"Do you think, then," said Miss M'Leod, "that those two, the
living ones, were actually told something--upstairs--in your in
the room?"
"I can't say. At any rate they were made happy, and they ate a
big tea afterwards. As your father says, it is not our trouble
any longer--thank God!"
"Amen!" said M'Leod. "Now, Thea, let us have some music after all
these months. 'With mirth, thou pretty bird,' ain't it? You ought
to hear that."
And in the half-lighted hall, Thea sang an old English song that
I had never heard before.
With mirth, thou pretty bird, rejoice
Thy Maker's praise enhanced;
Lift up thy shrill and pleasant voice,
Thy God is high advanced!
Thy food before He did provide,
And gives it in a fitting side,
Wherewith be thou sufficed!
Why shouldst thou now unpleasant be,
Thy wrath against God venting,
That He a little bird made thee,
Thy silly head tormenting,
Because He made thee not a man?
Oh, Peace! He hath well thought thereon,
Therewith be thou sufficed!
THE RABBI'S SONG
IF THOUGHT can reach to Heaven,
On Heaven let it dwell,
For fear that Thought be given
Like power to reach to Hell.
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