A LITTLE bird, with feathers brown,  

Sat singing on a tree; 

The song was very soft and low, 

But sweet as it could be. 

And all the people passing by, 

Looked up to see the bird, 

That made the sweetest melody 

That ever they had heard. 

But all the bright eyes looked in vain, 

For birdie was so small, 

And with a modest dark-brown coat, 

He made no show at all. 

"Why, papa," little Gracie said, 

"Where can this birdie be? 

If I could sing a song like that, 

I'd sit where folks could see." 

"I hope my little girl will learn 

A lesson from that bird, 

And try to do what good she can, 

Not to be seen or heard. 

"This birdie is content to sit 

Unnoticed by the way, 

And sweetly sing his Maker's praise 

From dawn to close of day. 

"So live, my child, all through your life, 

That, be it short or long, 

Though others may forget your looks, 

They'll not forget your song."