Today I heard them sing so well. I don't know whether I have not been noticing their singing but they have been away, of course.

It came to my brain:
What sweet carols!
The birds pour forth their souls in notes,
of rapture from a thousand throats.
I hear the whispering voice of spring,
(How my heart yearns for it!)
Teach me half the gladness, that my brain must know,
such harmonious madness, that my lips should also pour.

God, dispel the gloom from my heart,
Clear the cold attitudes and icy relations.
Fill the soul with the joy of your presence
And the sun of your righteousness.
When the cold hand of death shall lay its hold on the life,
May your assurance still remain -
The morning of light and warmth of the Sun of Righteousness
Is certain and it is the blessed hope.

Kobayashi Issi once said "Only birds sing the music of heaven in this world." I don't know how true that is. But their music is good, natural, spontaneous, lovable.


"Bury me where the birds will sing over my grave," sought Alexander Wilson. Though he won't be there to hear the songs, nevertheless their function would have turned a dirge into rapturous outpour.

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