WHISTLING.

WHISTLING.
479.4

In boyhood when you journeyed home
And darkness wrapped the world.
Weird beats and ogres turked about,
Each bush an imp would hold.

The rocks took unfamiliar shapes,
The trees were stiff and stark,
And then to keep your courage up
You whistled in the dark.

You travel through this vale of tears
In darkness wrapped around;
You do not know from where you came
Nor whither you are bound.
Strange shapes urise on every side
More dread than goblins are.
Devourers worse than an ogres grim
Your shadowed pathway bar.

And then you strike “Old Hundred” up
Your spunk to keep a-spark,
For, after all, what is a hymn
But whistling in the lark?
-McLandburgh Wilson.