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THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast ; 
The desert, and the illimitable air, 
Lone wandering, but not lost. 
All day, thy wings have fanned. 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the unwelcome land. 
Though the dark night is near. 
And soon that toil shall end, 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest. 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend 
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest, 
Thou'rt gone ! the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
And shall not soon depart. 
He who from zone to zone 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone 
Will lead my steps aright. « 
Bryant. 
