Friend of my early days,
Thou old, brown, folio tome,
Oft opened with amaze,
Within my childhood's home;
Thy many-pictured pages,
Beheld with glad surprise,
Would lure me from my playmates,
To oriental skies.
I found in thee for friends,
The wise and valiant men
Of Israel, whose heroic deeds
Are writ with holy pen;
And dark brown Jewish maidens,
With festive dance and song,
Or fairly dressed for bridal,
Thy pictured leaves among.
The old life patriarchal
Did beautifully shine,
With angels hovering over,
The good old men divine;
Their long long pilgrimages
I traced through all the way;
While on the stool before me
The pages open lay.
From the German of Freiligrath.
Fancy, Hope, and Conscience could not prove,
A future state, without the Word of God.
This is Hope's charter, this gives fancy power,
And this arms Conscience with authority.
This partly lifts the veil which else had hung
Before our eyes, concealing from our view
The Spirit Land.
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried;
When all were false I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy:
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
AND God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.
And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.-Genesis, i. 20, 22.
Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night; who teacheth us more than the beasts of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the fowls of heaven?--Job, xxxv. 10, 11.
In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?-Psalm xi. 1.
I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine.-Psalm 1. 11.
Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers.Psalm cxxiv. 7.
As a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life.-Proverbs, vii. 23.
As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse causeless shall not come.-Proverbs, xxvi. 2.
Curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.Ecclesiastes, x. 20.
Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?-Matthew, vi. 26.
The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.-Matthew, viii. 20.
Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fouls!-Luke, xii. 24.
SWEET bird! thou sing'st away the early hours
Of winter past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights, which present are,—
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling flowers,
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers,
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers;
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
(Alter'd in sweetness,) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To air of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.
W. Drummond.
Behold! and look away your low despair,
See the light tenants of the barren air:
To them no stores nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky;
He hears their gay and their distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
That in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
Instructs the fowls of Heaven?
Inspiring God! whose boundless spirit all
And unremitting energy pervades,
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
Like an unfledged hungry bird, that in its nest
Hears its returning mother flap her wings,
Circling around when some choice food she brings;
The nestling's love for both is then exprest-
It strives to reach the food and be carest,
And rustles to begin its wanderings,
And thanks her with unwonted chiruppings,
In notes that seem too sweet for its young breast:-
So do I feel whene'er the brilliant light
Of the almighty sun to which I gaze,
Cheers with unusual warmth my fainting soul; Urged by internal love to bless and praise,
I take the pen, with joy beyond controul,
And fluttering, praise my God with all my might.
Vittoria Colonna.
Beautiful birds of lightsome wing,
Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring;
We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn,
Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn,
Though rainbow splendour around you glows,
Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows:
Oh! what a lesson for glory are ye,
How ye preach the grace of humility.
Swift birds that skim o'er the stormy deep,
Who steadily onward your journey keep,
Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay,
But press still forward, by night or day—
As on your unwearying course ye fly,
Beneath the clear and unclouded sky;
Oh! may we, without delay, like you,
The path of duty and right pursue.
Sweet birds that breathe the spirit of song,
And surround heaven's gate in melodious throng;
Who rise with the earliest beams of day,
Your morning tribute of thanks to pay,
You remind me that we should likewise raise
The voice of devotion, and song of praise;
There's something about you that points on high,
Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky.
Č. W. Thompson.
Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing!
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
"We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky,
From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby.
A change we have found, and many a change!
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
And the young that were have a brow of care,
And the place is hushed where the children played-
Nought looks the same, save the nests we made!”
Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air
Ye have a guide, and shall we despair?
Ye over desert and deep have passed-
So shall we reach our bright home at last.
What time thy heavenly voice preludes
Unto the fair and silent night,
Winged minstrel of my solitudes,
Unknown to thee I trace its flight.
Thy voice so touching and sublime,
Seems far too pure for this gross earth;
Surely we well may deem the chime
An instinct which with God has birth.
Thy warblings and thy murmurs sweet,
Into melodious union bring
All fair sounds that in nature meet,
Or float from heaven on wand'ring wing.
And that mysterious voice, that sound
Which angels listen to with me,-
That sigh of pious night is found
In thee, melodious bird, in thee.
Ye gentle birds, that perch aloof,
And smooth your pinions on my roof,
Preparing for departure hence,
Ere winter's angry threats commence;
Like you, my soul would smooth her plume,
For longer flights beyond the tomb.
May God, by whom is seen and heard
Departing man and wandering bird,
In mercy mark me for His own,
And guide me to the land unknown!
The bird, let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idler warblers roam.
So grant me, Lord! from every stain
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft through virtue's purer air,
To steer my course to Thee.
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
The sunshine on her joyful way;
Thy freedom on her wings.
The wild bird's song is a song of praise,
Which, thankful, he uplifts;
Ever, like him, thy voice upraise,
To the Giver of all good gifts.
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