The Bird's Song To-morrow.
Lo, the lilies of the field,
How their leaves instruction yield.
Hark to nature's lesson, given
By the blessed bird of heaven.
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow.
Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
Than we poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded gains have we,
Yet we carol merrily;
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow.
One there lives, whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny;
One there lives, who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall.
Pass we blithely then the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow.
YI