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-born 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.]

SCENE SECOND

CHANTECLER, the PHEASANT-HEN, from time to time the RABBITS, now and then the WOODPECKER.

CHANTECLER
How softly sleeps the moonlight on the ferns!  Now is the time—­

A LITTLE QUAVERING VOICE
  Spider at night,
  Bodeth delight!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Thanks, kind Spider!

CHANTECLER
Now is the time—­

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Close behind him.] Now is the time to kiss me.

CHANTECLER
All those Rabbits looking on make it a trifle—­