My Birds 



By Jane L. Hine 



No bird that the Lord has created 



Shall come to misfortune through me; 



Not one of my jolly old Robins, 



Though they take the fruit from my tree. 



Not one of my silken-clad Blackbirds 

 Who nest in the pine that stands near ; 



Not one of my little brown House Wrens, 

 So saucy, so tame and so dear; 



Not one of my sweet gentle Bluebirds 

 Who come with the first days of spring; 



Not one of my gay Golden Robins — 

 Would I wear my Oriole's wing? 



Not one of my Quaker-clad Cuckoos, 

 Nor Pewees that home in my shed ; 



Not one of my jewel-crowned Kinglets 

 Shall adorn a hat for my head. 



Not one of my dear little Downies 



Who work in my old apple tree, 

 Nor Harries, nor Red-heads, nor Gold-shafts — 



Should their wings make trimmings for me? 



Not one of my great stately Herons 

 Not one of luy reed-loving Rails ; 



Not one of my shy Water Witches ; 

 Not one of my cheerful voiced Quails ; 



Not one of my beautiful Wax-wings. 



Though they take my cherries I know ; 

 Not one of the birds God has given me ; 



Not even my jaunty old Crow, 



Shall have from me aught but kind treatment. 



\\ hen I le who created them all. 

 Would feel lx)lh coiupassion and sorrow 



If even a Sparrow should fall. 



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