SPARE THE GENTLE SONGSTER 



Oh, spare the gentle songster 



Whose carols in the morn 

 Wake us, with joyous melody, 



To day and hope new-born. 

 Still not his throbbing pulses. 



Maim not his graceful wing ; 

 Stay not his flight beneath the skies, — 



The bird was made to sing. 



Stayv hunter, stay that missile, 



That messenger of death ; 

 Mar not pure heaven's harmony, 



Rob not its voice of breath, — 

 The voice that breaks, unbidden. 



Forth from a joyous heart 

 To sing the love of nestlings dear, 



In nature's purest art. 



Think of the wee ones waiting 



For mother care and love ; 

 Think of that dying agony 



That calls to heaven above, 

 That calls for help and pity, 



Where none to help is nigh. 

 On orphaned birdlings left alone 



To hunger and to die. 



Oh, spare the gentle songster 



Whose lays at eve delight. 

 Whose vesper anthems glorify 



The coming of the night; 



[17] 



