What sort of a house has birdie, —
My robin with russet vest?
Oh, she has a house of sun-dried clay,
Bound together with bark and hay,
Hair-lined within, in a cunning way,
For a warm and cosey nest.
What kind of a wedding had birdie, —
Sir Robin, with jacket of red?
He sang from the top of the apple-tree:
"As I love you, if you will love me,
Take a bite of my worm!" _ " I will," said she,
And the service was all said.
What sort of eggs are my birdie's, -
My robin of russet hue?
Four days she was counting them, one by one,
Counting, thinking, and adding one,
Till at Thursday noon the sum was done:
Four eggs of a turkois [sic]-blue!
What manner of chicks has birdie?
How lonely they must be!
Oh, blind, little, ugly, big-mouthed things,
Where are your feathers, and where are your wings?
And how do you know what your mamma brings,
With your eyes that cannot see?
Ha! now you will look at my birdies,
With their new brown jackets on.
Grubs and beetles, the fattest and best,
Have made them plump, till they fill the nest:
The new wings flutter, they cannot rest,
To-morrow they will be gone.
Oh, happy, busy, and patient
Are my brave, brown-bosomed birds:
Building, brooding, and waiting long,
Working and watching with love, how strong!
Their full, glad hearts run over with song,
Thanksgiving without words!
Bird Housekeeping