or if they do for a while, you will cheer up and overcome them.
To my mind, the bird songs are the most true and tender expressions of gratitude to God that this old earth ever hears. They make man's petitions seem stale and incomplete. To hear the robins singing in the rain, their coats drabbled with wet and their toes perhaps numb with cold, is both an inspiration and a rebuke. If the robins sing when it rains, why not we?
There are many birds that are so glad that they sing on the wing.
To them winging is singing, and singing means winging. Conspicuous in this last are: The bobolink, the meadow-lark, the oriole, the wild canary, the vesper sparrow, the oven bird, and several others whose songs are not so beautiful. To me, the wild canary when he flies always seems to be saying, "O see us go; O see us go; O see us go," over and over.
The song of the woodcock on the wing is wonderful and many naturalists have never heard it. Even Mr. Burroughs was nearly
