In early summer still they come
And bless us with their song,
Circling and wheeling like our thoughts,
Their flight tugs at our restless hearts
That we might leave all harms and hurts
To be where we belong.

And come September they will fly
And skim the autumn air
Whilst we in ‘swallow-flights of song’
Give wing to prayers through which we long
To be where saints like swallows throng
Round heaven’s haven there.

Sure as ‘the swallow finds her nest
Where she may lay her young’
Our songs and sighs like swallows fare,
Dipping and skimming through the air,
And every sigh becomes a prayer
And every prayer a song.