A Broken Wing
In front of my pew sits a maiden -
A little brown wing in her hat,
With its touches of tropical azure,
And the sheen of the sun upon that.
Through the colored pane shines a glory,
By which the vast shadows are stirred,
But I pine for the spirit and splendor,
That painted the wing of that bird.
The organ rolls down its great anthem,
With the soul of a song it is blent;
But for me, I am sick for the singing,
Of one little song that is spent.
The voice of the preacher is gentle;
"No sparrow shall fall to the ground;"
But the poor broken wing on the bonnet,
Is mocking the merciful sound.