Who gave the bird its feathers bright,
Its pretty breast to warm;
In winter’s cold to keep it quite
Preserved from every harm?
Who taught the bird to build its nest
Of wool, and hay, and moss;
Who taught it how to weave it best,
And lay the twigs across?
’Twas God who taught it all the way,
And gave it power and skill;
And teaches children when they pray,
To do His holy will.
WILLIE WINKIE.
Hey! Willie Winkie,
Are you coming then?
The cat’s singing gay tunes
To the sleeping hen.
The dog is lying on the floor,
And does not even peep;
But here’s a wakeful laddie,
That will not fall asleep.
Anything but sleep, you rogue,
Glowing like the moon;
Rattling in a stone jug,
With an iron spoon.