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Album The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Legend of the Crossbill by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Legend of the Crossbill Annotated

On the cross the dying Saviour
&nbsp Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,
Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling
&nbsp In his pierced and bleeding palm.

And by all the world forsaken,
&nbsp Sees he how with zealous care
At the ruthless nail of iron
&nbsp A little bird is striving there.

Stained with blood and never tiring,
&nbsp With its beak it doth not cease,
From the cross 't would free the Saviour,
&nbsp Its Creator's Son release.

And the Saviour speaks in mildness:
&nbsp "Blest be thou of all the good!
Bear, as token of this moment,
&nbsp Marks of blood and holy rood!"

And that bird is called the crossbill;
&nbsp Covered all with blood so clear,
In the groves of pine it singeth
&nbsp Songs, like legends, strange to hear.

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