*THE SPARROW AT THE WINDOW.
COME, tell me what the Sparrow says;
You look at me, do you not know?
He says, "I choose the sweetest grain,
I please myself where'er I go.'
But when the harvest time is gone, How fares the Sparrow now so gay? "He feeds on refuse in the street,
He's pinched with hunger many a day.”
And when the snow lies on the ground, How can the saucy Sparrow live? "He taps against the window-pane,
To beg the crumbs the children give.”
Oh, mother, feed him now, he's starved!"
Nay, wait awhile, and let us see
What lesson we may learn from him,
Just think, it might be so with thee!
Who chose the crust and left the crumb? You blush, you'll not do so again;
It is not right, a time may be
When for the crumb you sigh in vain.
We cannot aye keep holiday,
The week has many hours beside; And weeks enow our town may see, Before the last day's even-tide.
The learning that you get in school
Will have its use in coming years;
A harvest in the Summer stored,
The lingering days of Autumn cheers.
So think of this, and guide thee well;
"The bird is gone, oh, mother, see!"
We'll strew some groats upon the ground,
He'll soon come back, I warrant thee.
I's cotton-wool so cheap to-day?
See, they are throwing it away
On houses, gardens, fields, and trees;
And there's as much more as you please
Up in the sky; for you must know
I'm talking of a fall of snow.
Look, everybody in the street
Is furnished with a wrapper neat,
Of this new wool: how close it sits!
And every kind of figure fits.
Nay, do not run, my honest man,
You're welcome, pray, take all you can.
The courts and gardens get their share,
And every post and pillar there
Puts on its snowy hood with pride.
The nut-tree wears a mantle wide,
And tall church-spire or mile-stone low
Is dressed alike in cap of snow.
Look where we may the ground is white,
The streets and paths are covered quite;
Safe hidden in the lap of earth,
The little seeds await their birth.
And let it snow long as it will,
The tiny seeds outlive it still.
Now many a crimson butterfly
Lies fast asleep, so quietly;
It has no care, no work, no pain,
At Easter it will rise again:
It may be long before the Spring,
But then 't will rise on glorious wing..
Yes, when the swallow chirps in May,
And flowers enwreath the hawthorn spray,
A thousand lives, on every side,
Shall cast their grave-clothes beautified;
Above, below, on either hand,
New life and gladness in the land.
Come, pretty sparrow, do come near,
You've had but sorry Winter cheer;
Pick up the crumbs, but leave a few
For others, hungry, just like you.
These snowy days are dull and cold,
You miss the cornfields' waving gold.
How true the holy Bible-words,
About the helpless little birds:
They have no barns, nor reap, nor sow,
And nought of plough and harrow know;
But none without our Lord can fall,
He made, He loves, and feeds them all.
*SONG OF THE CHERRY-TREE.
THE good God bade the Spring go out,-
"Make ready that the worm may eat!"
And straight the cherry-tree put forth
Ten thousand leaflets, green and sweet.
The worm awoke, and left the egg,
Its winter-house so snug and small;
It stretched and rubbed its sleepy eyes,
Nor seemed to wonder at it all.
But soon began, with tiny tooth,
To gnaw a leaflet, here and there.
It said: "This herb is fresh and good,
And there's so much, I need not spare."
The good God sent the Spring again,—
"Make ready that the bee may eat!"
And straight the cherry-tree put forth
Ten thousand snowy blossoms sweet.
The bee its straw-built hive forsook,
Soon as the morning sun was up,
And found its honey-dew was served,
As in a fairy porcelain cup.
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