A bird one day, as birds will do
When times are hard, came hopping through
An open window in the mill,
One day when all the place was still.
It saw, no doubt, the golden store
Of grain that covered all the floor;
But never thought, in point of law,
It had no right to what it saw.
For birds are children of the air
Dependent on the Father's care,
Who made for them His sun to shine,
And gives them food by law Divine.
And so it hopped about the floor
And dined, and came next day for more—
And every day—and on the tree
It used to sit and sing to me.