Scene FIRST

A RABBIT. It is the hour when with sweet and solemn voices the two warblers, Black-cap of the Gardens, and Red-wing of the Woods, intone the evening prayer.

A VOICE. [Among the branches.] O God of Birds!

ANOTHER VOICE. O God of Birds' or, rather, for the Hawk
Has surely not the same God as the Wren,
O God of Little Birds!

A THOUSAND VOICES. [Among the leaves.] O God of Little Birds!

FIRST VOICE. Who breathed into our wings to make us light,
And painted them with colours of His sky,
All thanks for this fair day, for meat and drink —
Sweet sky-bom water caught in cups of stone,
Sweet hedgerow berries washed of dust with dew,
And thanks for these good little eyes of ours
That spy the unseen enemies of man,
And thanks for the good tools by Thee bestowed
To aid our work of little gardeners,
Trowels and pruning-hooks of living horn.

THE SECOND VOICE. To-morrow we will fight borer and blight,
Forgive Thy birds to-night their trespasses,
The stripping of a currant-bush or two!

THE FIRST VOICE. Breathe on our bright round eyes and over them
The triple curtain of the lids will close.
If Man, the unjust, pay us by casting stones,
For filling field and wood and eaves with song,
For battling with the weevil for his bread,
If he lime twigs for us, if he spread snares,
Call to our memory Thy gentle Saint,
Thy good Saint Francis, that we may forgive
The cruelty of men because a man
Once called us brothers, "My brothers, the birds!"

THE SECOND VOICE. Saint Francis of Assisi ——

A THOUSAND VOICES. [Among the leaves] Pray for us!

THE VOICE. Confessor of the mavis ——

ALL THE VOICES. Pray for us!

THE VOICE. Preacher to the swallows ——

ALL THE VOICES. Pray for us!

THE VOICE. O tender dreamer of a generous dream,
Who didst believe so surely in our soul
That, ever since, our soul, and ever more,
Affirms, defines itself——

ALL THE VOICES. Remember us!

THE FIRST VOICE. And by the favour of thy prayers obtain
The needful daily sup and crumb! Amen.

THE SECOND VOICE. Amen!

ALL THE VOICES. [In a murmur spreading to the uttermost ends of the forest.] Amen!

CHANTECLER. [Who, having a moment before stepped from the hollow tree, has stood listening.] Amen!

[The shade has deepened and taken a bluer tinge. The spiderweb, touched by a moonbeam, looks as if sifting silver dust. The PHEASANT-HEN comes from the tree and follows CHANTECLER with little short feminine steps.]