SEE, mamma, the crumbs are flying 

Fast and thickly through the air; 

On the branches they are lying, 

On the walks and everywhere. 

Oh, how glad the birds will be, 

When so many crumbs they see!" 

"No, my little girl, 'tis snowing— 

Nothing for the birds is here; 

Very cold the air is growing; 

'T is the winter of the year. 

Frost will nip—the robin's food 

Will no more be sweet and good. 

"See the clouds the skies that cover— 

'Tis from them the snow-flakes fall, 

Whitening hills and fields all over, 

Hanging from the beech-tree tall. 

Were it warm, 't would rain; but lo!

Frost has changed the rain to snow." 

"If the robins, food are needing, 

Oh, I hope to me they'll come! 

I should like to see them feeding 

On the window of my room. 

I'll divide with them my store; 

Much I wish I could do more."