THE robin and the bluebird, piping loud, 

Filled all the blossoming orchards' with their glee;

The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 

Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; 

And hungry crows assembled in the crowd,

Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, 

Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: 

"Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread!"

Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these?

Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught 

The dialect they speak, where melodies

Alone are the interpreters of thought? 

Whose household words are songs in many keys,

Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! 

Whose habitations in the treetops even 

Are halfway houses on the, road to Heaven!

Think, every morning when the sun peeps through

The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, 

How jubilant the happy birds renew

Their old, melodious madrigals of love! 

And when you think of this, remember too

'Tis always morning somewhere, and above 

The awakening continents, from shore to shore, 

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.