Kids Poems » The Bird’s Hymn

My Maker, I know not the place of thy home,
If 'tis earth, or the sky, or the sea ;
I only can tell that wherever I roam,
I've still a kind Father in thee.

I feel that at night when I go to niy rest,
Thy wings all around me are flung ;
And peaceful I sleep, while the down of tinbreast
Is o'er me, as mine o'er my young.

And when in the morning I open my eye,
I feel thou hast long been awake ;
Thy beautiful plumage is spread o'er the sky,
And painted on river and lake.

Thy breath has gone into the buds, and the flowers
Have opened to thee on their stems ;
And thou hast strown clew-drops on meadows and bowers,
To glitter like thousands of gems.

Thy voice, in the notes that can only be thine, -
A music 'tis gladness to hoar -
Comes through the green boughs of the oak and the pine,
And falls sweet and soft on my ear.

And oft as a shield hast thou stood between nie
And the arrow that aimed at my heart ;
For, though in a form that my eye could not see,
I know thou hast parried the dart.

I drink from the drops on the grass and the vine,
And gratefully gather my food :
I feel thou hast plenty for me and for mine ;
That all things declare thou art good.

My Father, thy pinions are ever unfurled,
With brightness no changes can dim !
My Maker, thy home is all over the world ;
Thou 'It hear, then, thy bird's lowly hymn.

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