HAIL TO THE BIRDS. 



^a^mong the mountains, steep and rugged,' 



The wild birds in seclusion dwell; 

 In the dark and lonely forests. 



By roaring torrent, in rocky dell. , 



Sailing o'er ocean's mighty billows. 



With a beautiful grace we cannot express; 



O'er the dark and troubled waters. 



Touching the waves with a fond caress. 



Among the snow-capped cliffs and ice-bergs, 

 On northern sea coast, bleak and bare; 



In all the world's remotest corners, 



They never fail us, the birds are there. 



Homeward from sunny southland. 

 The migrants bear tidings of spring; 



Swiftly o'er the aerial pathway, 



With flight unerring, and tireless wing. 



The merry birds are up and doing. 



With the first gray light of morning's dawn; 

 Through the woodlands, o'er the meadows. 



Singing songs of gladness all day long. 



Down from lofty tree-top perches. 



And from lowly wayside, far and near; 



Come sweet echoes of their music. 



Throughout the long and changing year. 



Protect their haunts, guard well their homes, 

 They claim our help and fostering care ; 



In our life work we shall need them, 

 Increase their numbers everywhere. 



Always with us, they charm and cheer us, 

 Warbling thanksgiving at close of day ; 



In sunshine and shadow, tempest and calm, 

 God's messengers of love, are they. 



Berton Mercer. 



