The Birds
Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God. ~ Luke, xii, 6.
ES of the air! whose favored
May wander through the realms of space, Free guests of earth and sky;
In form, in plumage, and in song,
What gifts of nature mark your throng With bright variety!
Nor differ less your forms, your flight,
Your dwellings hid from hostile sight, And the wild haunts ye love;
Birds of the gentle beak! how
Your wood-note, to the wanderer's ear, In shadowy vale or grove!
Far other scenes, remote, sublime,
Where swain or hunter may not climb, The mountain-eagle seeks;
Alone he reigns, a monarch there,
Scarce will the chamois' footstep dare Ascend his Alpine peaks.
Others there are, that make their
Where the white billows roar and foam, Around th' o'erhanging rock;
Fearless they skim the angry wave,
Or sheltered in their sea-beat cave, The tempest's fury mock.
Where Afric's burning realm expands,
The ostrich haunts the desert sands, Parched by the blaze of day;
The swan, where northern rivers glide,
Through the tall reeds that fringe their tide, Floats graceful on her way.
The condor, where the Andes tower,
Spreads his broad wing of pride and power, And many a storm defies;
Bright in the orient realms of morn,
All beauty's richest hues adorn The Bird of Paradise.
Some, amidst India's grove of palm,
And spicy forests breathing balm, Weave soft their pendent nest;
Some, deep in western wilds,
Their fairy form and plumage gay, In rainbow colors drest.
Others no varied song may pour,
May boast no eagle-plume to soar, No tints of light may wear;
Yet, know, our Heavenly Father
The least of these, and well provides For each, with tenderest care.
Shall He not then thy guardian be?
Will not his aid extend to thee? Oh! safely may'st thou rest!?
Trust in his love, and e'en should pain,
Should sorrow tempt thee to complain, Know, what He wills is best!
In this line 'Birds of the gentle beak! how dear'The Italians call all singing birds,
Birds of the gentle beak.
Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Other author posts
Harvest Hymn
Now autumn strews on every plain, His mellow fruits and fertile grain; And laughing plenty, crown'd with sheaves, With purple grapes, and spreading leaves
Sabbath Sonnet
How many blessed groups this hour are bending, Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day The halls from old heroic ag...
Greek Funeral Chant Or Myriologue
A IL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young, Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung —Ianthis
The Switzers Wife
Nor look nor tone revealeth Save woman's quietness of thought; And yet around her is a Of inward majesty and might