THE FURZE-WREN. 



THE FURZE-WREN. 



Birdj)f_the desert, thy home may not be 

 In groves of Arabian spicery : 

 No dwelling hast thou in the fertile vale 

 Where clustering roses have scented the gale ; 

 The waste places are thine, sweet warbling bird, 

 Thy notes of joy in the desert are heard. 

 My spirit is glad while I listen to thee ; 

 There are songs in the wilderness also for me. 



In the lonely wild thou hast made thy nest, 

 And the thorny gorse is thy place of rest, 

 Yet dost thou sit on its branches and sing, 

 Making the waste with thy melody ring. 

 Bird of the desert, who cheerest my way, 

 There's a lesson for me in thy joyous lay. 

 There are golden flowers on the thorny tree; 

 There are songs of the wilderness also for me. 



Bird of the desert, I too have a song, 

 A hymn'of joy, as I travel along : 

 The fairest flowers that my pathway adorn, 

 Spring up in the shade of some rankling thorn. 

 Strains of thanksgiving and praise be mine, 

 For blessings more lofty and lasting than thine. 

 My spirit is glad while I listen to thee ; 

 There are songs in the wilderness also for me. 



