Little Bird With Bosom Red



WHEN the winds of winter blow,

And the air is thick with snow,

Drifting over hill and hollow,

Whitening all the naked trees,

Then the bluebird and the jay

And the oriole fly away,

Where the bobolink and swallow

Flew before them at their ease.

You may look, and look in vain,

For you will not see again

Any flash of blue or yellow

Flitting door and window by;

They have spread their dainty wings,

All the sunshine-loving things,

Gone to pipe away their mellow

Tunes beneath a Southern sky.

But we are not left alone,

Though the summer birds have flown,

Though the honeybees have vanished,

And the katydids are dead;

Still a cheery, ringing note

From a dear melodious throat,

Tells that winter has not banished

"Little bird with bosom red."

Pipe away, you bonny bird!

Sweeter song I never heard,

For it seems to say, "Remember!

God, our Father, sits above;

Though the world is full of wrong,

Though the winter days are long,

He can fill the bleak December

With the sunshine of his love."



St. Nicholas.