Only a bird on a bough of fir—
Look, can you see his feathers stir,
And hear his wee notes, soft and low,
Echoes of songs of long ago?
I am not bearing my cross, you see,
For the cross itself is bearing me.
When birds are frightened, or suffer loss,
Alone in the darkness, they fly to a cross,
And never are heard to moan, “I must,”
But always twitter, “I trust! I trust!”
For not a fluttering sparrow can fall
But into His hand, who loveth all.
Lord, hear thy children while they pray,
Make us thy sparrows this Christmas Day.
“Bessie wrote that,” whispered Pet, glancing at the little Captain, who did not deny the authorship, but smiled a little as she nestled closer to her father’s side.
“While I am reading verse,” remarked Mr. Selborne, “I may as well read, though a little out of course, another short poem about sparrows.
SPARROWS.
From the orchard, sweet with blossoms,
From the waving meadow-grasses,
From the heated, dusty pavement
Where a tired city passes,
Rise the happy sparrow-voices,
Chirps and trills, and songs of gladness—
Bits of sunshine, changed to music,
Brightening, scattering clouds of sadness.
At the first fair flush of dawning,
At the twilight’s last faint shining,
Sparrows sing, through storm and darkness,
Never doubting nor repining.
Fluttering to and fro, wherever
Faith is fainting, life is dreary,
Bear they each his little message
To the hopeless and the weary:
“Sparrows trust their Heavenly Father;
Centuries ago he told us
We should never fall unheeded;
In his love He would enfold us.
“So we cast our care upon Him,
Never fearing for to-morrow;
And we’re sent by Him to help you,
When your sky is dark with sorrow.”
“I think the assistant editor knows who wrote that,” said Mr. Percival, glancing toward Adelaide with a smile. “Mr. Selborne, it is getting rather late. How many more articles have you in the——?”
“Three, sir; and one of them is very short, being a four-line poem or quatrain. Shall I read it now?”
“If you please.”
“This poem is printed so neatly that the writer has evidently spent as much time upon it as the producers of some of the longer pieces,” the editor remarked, holding the sheet for all to see.