Poems (Prescott)/The Mother Bird
THE MOTHER BIRD
Deep in a leafy dell we found— When early summer wove her crown—A bird's-nest on the mossy ground, From blooming bough blown down.
Five pearly eggs, quite warm and white, Were waiting for the brooding wing,That from each shell there might take flight A bird, to trill and sing.
The mother sat and grieved apart; Her song had no rejoicing note.The sorrow of her wounded heart Seemed sobbing in her throat.
She thought of all the summer days, With their sweet sunshine, yet to come; Of fledglings echoing God's praise, While only hers were dumb;
She dreamed that all the wood must miss The melody that might have been. The wind had robbed the world of bliss It had been glad to win.