Harmonies (Howe collection)/A Sermon

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A SERMON
Ten crimson drops of nature's blood,
 Ten berries of the alder tree,
Saturday's gleaning from the wood,
 Went to the church with you and me.

And while the learned doctor there
 His theologic missiles threw,
These children of the sun and air
 Sat calm and heedless—so did you.

But once I saw a small caress
 Steal from your finger to their cheek
With messages of tenderness
 And sympathy no word could speak.

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'T was then I felt you kin to them,
 Pagan and nature-bred and free;
And you and that bright woodland stem
 Preached gospels of your own to me.

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