One autumn morn
I chanced to cross
A field of corn
And there it was—
That blessed morn—.
To sinful me
The grace was given
On earth to see
The ways of Heaven:
I saw a bird
And heard a voice
I ne’er before
Had seen or heard.
I did rejoice,
Yet with my joy
Was Holy Awe
At what I saw;
And what I said
I know not well,
For, strange to tell,
I instantly
Was on my knee.
The bird saw too
Yet did not stir;
And, ‘Who are you
To ask me, sir?.
It said, and I
Did thus reply.
Grown bolder now,
I know not how:
‘An untaught poet
Of trees and birds
Whom no man knoweth
And, wanting words,
But dreams and sings
Of simple things’—
‘Peace ! all Heaven knoweth;
From Heaven come I:
Come, simple poet’,
The bird rejoined.
So, I drew near
And heard it say—
That blessed day—
To an ear of corn,
A tiny ear
‘Grow quick, my dear!
There’s dearth and death
on every hand,
In every breath
Upon this land—
Grow quick, my dear!’
Then was revealed
At every ear,
Throughout the field,
A bird, and clear
A voice, ‘Spare, spare !’
Was it my prayer
That blessed morn
While I did cross
The field of corn ?
Perchance it was:
To sinful me
Such grace was given—
On earth to see
The ways of Heaven.