On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To him, they sing when Spring renews the plain;
To him, they cry in Winter's pinching reign;
Nor is their music, nor their plaint in vain:
He hears the gay, and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
Observe the rising lily's snowy grace;
Observe the various vegetable race;
They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow;
Yet see how warm they blush, how bright they glow!