The Sparrow

A quiet, harmless little bird,
About your door I come ;
And when my low ”
chick-chick,” is heard,
I’m asking for a crumb.
O’er mint and clover-tops I flit,
And through the fragrant yarrow ;
Then, waiting near your door I sit,
A patient little sparrow.

To yon old churchyard late I flew,
And from its gate looked round,
Where marble stood, and willows grew,
Within the silent ground.
The branches drooped, the graven stone
Gazed on the grassy barrow ;
But all was hush, and thftre was none
Awake to hear the sparrow.

In simple suit of russet brown,
I thus am daily dressed,
While other birds on me look down ;
Yet I’ve a peaceful breast.
No envy for the loud and gay
Shall e’er my bosom harrow ;
More lowly, I’m more blest than they,
A fearless, trustful sparrow !

For clearer note, and richer plume,
And wider wings to fly,
May others higher rank assume
On nature’s scale, than I.
Yet crimson, azure, green and gold
Attract the archer’s arrow :
Bright captives, too, the cage may hold,
That never held a sparrow !

Now. lady, lest around your door
The bird that comes to-day
A crumb to ask, may come no more,
At heart my message lay.
For I’m our Maker’s carrier-bird,
Though seems my sphere so narrow ;
And ’tis a kindly Spirit-word
He sendeth by ” the sparrow !”

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