THE FIRST BIRDS.
Hark! the little birds are singing:
Winter's gone, and Summer's near:
See, the tender grass is springing,
And the flowers will soon be here.
Winter's gone, and Summer's near:
See, the tender grass is springing,
And the flowers will soon be here.
Who made the Winter and the Spring?
Who painted all the flowers?
Who taught the little birds to sing,
And made these hearts of ours?
Who painted all the flowers?
Who taught the little birds to sing,
And made these hearts of ours?
O! 'tis God! how good he is!
He does every blessing give:
All this happy world is his:
Let us love him while we live.
He does every blessing give:
All this happy world is his:
Let us love him while we live.