106 OUR NATIVE BIRDS 



Uncle Sam 



Those men who shoot in the springtime, 



Boys who hunt at summer camps, 



I will gather on my flat boats, 



Land them on a sandy shore, 



In the desert of Sahara. 



They may keep their guns and cannons, 



But never even see a crow. 



The Orchard Oriole 



And at last we're sad to mention 



That some schoolboys cause much grief : 



With their sling-shot, with their air-gun, 



With their rifles, snares, and bow, 



And with stones and sticks and missiles 



They cause many a bird despair. 



Teach them that a broken wing bone 



Hurts worse than a broken leg, 



And we cannot call the doctor, 



Mother cannot bandage it. 



Bleeding wounds, which you have caused us, 



Pain us worse than rusty nails 



Driv'n into the feet of children, 



And we have no balm for wounds. 



If you wound us, if you wing us, 



We must die in agony, 



Or a horrid cat will spy us 



When on bush or lawn we rest. 



A few scattered, bloody feathers, 



