"The Balm-of-Gilead"

"The Balm-of-Gilead"

                                                      I.

There’s a bird that sings at morning on the hillside, sweet and low,

      But so clearly that its message to the listening ear is plain

As it sings across the orchards with their bee-enchanted snow;

      “Oh, it’s sweet the Balm-of-Gilead is in April, in the rain.”

                                                      II.

When the alder shakes her curly locks of bronzy brown and gold,

      And the birches draw along the brooks a delicate tawny chain,

Then that clear voice thrills and falters from the undulating wold:

      “Oh, it’s sweet the Balm-of-Gilead is in April, in the rain.”

                                                      III.

Tell me, bird, am I but dreaming; are the words in my own heart?

      Are they but the poignant echo of an unspoken pain,

Of a half-forgotten sorrow that once sent its stinging dart

      When the Balm shook out her fragrance in the April, in the rain?

"The Balm-of-Gilead" printed in an unidentified publication with revisions by Ella Higginson, clipping courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham WA.