244 Bird - Lore 



The hostile city drives them forth. 

 No longer here they nest and fly; 

 Deep in the woods they've fled to sing. 



They are God's choicest singers. 

 They welcome every rising sun, 

 While you, perhaps, are still abed 



With sleepy head. 

 They pour their soul abroad 

 In cheerful ecstasy. 

 They fly with all the winds 

 And visit many lands 

 Which you, perhaps, will never know. 



They know the secret streams among the hills. 



They probe the bosoms of the trees; 



And with exploring wing 



They search through every thicket. 



The wild flowers bend beneath their speckled breast, 



And Autumn's ripened seeds are carried far and wide 



For Spring to dress in glowing color. 



They wage a daily battle with the worms 



That would destroy your growing food. 



They stitch a tiny house with magic art, 



And soon bright-colored eggs 



Are hatching 'neath the mother's breast. 



The birds are wing&d joys; 



But you must gentle be, 



If you would win their friendship. 



If you do follow them with love and care 



They'll lead you to much health and happiness; 



They will charm you all your life; 



They will teach you truest knowledge. 



If you will only follow 



Over wooded hill and hollow, 



Only watch and silent be 



By the stream and 'cross the lea, 



They will sing their sweetest song, 



Make you glad the whole day long, 



Make you wise in woodland lore, 



Make you rich in Nature's^store. 



If you promise to be gentle, 

 I will draw this covering mantle. 

 Here the birds may rest awhile 

 In their travels many a mile, 

 Bathe and drink from this tiny pool, 

 Here in sight of you in school, 

 And perhaps you'll wish for wings, 

 While the robin dips and sings. 



