THE skylark's nest among the grass 

And waving corn is found; 

The robin's on a shady bank, 

With oak leaves strewn around.

'The Wren builds in an ivied thorn,

Or old and ruined wall; 

The mossy nest so covered in

So one scarce can see at all.

The martins build their nest of clay

In rows beneath the eaves; 

The silvery lichens, moss and hair,

The chaffinch Interweaves.

The cuckoo makes no nest at all, 

But through the wood she strays,

Until she finds one snug and warm, 

And there her eggs she lays.

The sparrow has a nest of hay,

With feathers warmly lined; 

The ringdove's careless nest of sticks

On lofty trees we find.

Rooks build together in a wood,

And often disagree; 

The owl will build inside a barn,

Or in a hollow tree.

The blackbird's nest of grass and mud

In bush and bank is found; 

The lap-wing's darkly spotted eggs

Are laid upon the ground.

The magpie's nest is made of thorns

In leafless tree or hedge; 

The wild-duck and the water-hen

Build by the water's edge.

Birds build their nest from year to year

According to their kind; 

Some very neat and beautiful, 

Some simple ones we find.

The habits of each little bird,

And all its patient skill, 

Are surely taught by God himself,

And ordered by his will.

The Cottager and Artisan.