Up above, a passing breeze
Undulates the tops of trees,
But in the green depths where I sit
Is no stir or feel of it.
No grass blade bends; no leaf turns;
No breath disturbs the peace of ferns.
Only in the cool, sweet hush
Is the call of thrush to thrush,
And all around me everywhere
A gentle sound like murmured prayer.

Up above, a passing breeze
Undulates the tops of trees,
But in the green depths where I sit
Is no stir or feel of it.
No grass blade bends; no leaf turns;
No breath disturbs the peace of ferns.
Only in the cool, sweet hush
Is the call of thrush to thrush,
And all around me everywhere
A gentle sound like murmured prayer.