DEEP in a leafy dell we found,
When early Summer wove her crown,
A bird’s nest on the mossy ground,
From blooming bough blown down.
Five pretty eggs, quite warm and white,
Were waiting for the brooding wing,
That from each shell there might take flight
A bird, to trill and sing.
The mother sat and grieved apart;
Her song had no rejoicing note.
The sorrow of her wounded heart
Seemed sobbing in her throat.
She thought of all the summer days,
With their sweet sunshine, yet to come;
Of fledgelings echoing God’s praise,
While only hers were dumb.