THE MOTHER BIRD
Deep in a leafy dell we found—
When early summer wove her crown—
A bird's-nest on the mossy ground,
From blooming bough blown down.
When early summer wove her crown—
A bird's-nest on the mossy ground,
From blooming bough blown down.
Five pearly eggs, quite warm and white,
Were waiting for the brooding wing,
That from each shell there might take flight
A bird, to trill and sing.
Were waiting for the brooding wing,
That from each shell there might take flight
A bird, to trill and sing.
The mother sat and grieved apart;
Her song had no rejoicing note.
The sorrow of her wounded heart
Seemed sobbing in her throat.
Her song had no rejoicing note.
The sorrow of her wounded heart
Seemed sobbing in her throat.
She thought of all the summer days,
With their sweet sunshine, yet to come;
Of fledglings echoing God's praise,
While only hers were dumb;
With their sweet sunshine, yet to come;
Of fledglings echoing God's praise,
While only hers were dumb;
She dreamed that all the wood must miss
The melody that might have been.
The wind had robbed the world of bliss
It had been glad to win.
The melody that might have been.
The wind had robbed the world of bliss
It had been glad to win.
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