 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
108
THE CANARY.
FOR MY CHILDREN.
The pet Canary in its gilded cage,Hung safely in the bright and curtained room
Sings a sweet song and smooths its yellow plume,
By kind hands fed and fondled to old age.
But those poor birds outside my thoughts engage—
Nor birds alone—how different is their doom;
Through all these bitter days of wintry gloom
Exposed to cold and rain and tempest's rage.
For bird or child 'tis easy to look pretty,
In happy home well-sheltered and well-fed,
Easy to smile, or sing a pleasant ditty;
But oh! remember through this wintry weather
Children without a home or daily bread,
And pity Robin with the ruffled feather!
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