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.