Page 44 - Ebook-Rosary

Little Birds

Come! Little birds at any window

And feed from out my hand,

Mine envy oft' to you doth go

Soaring o'er sea and land.

No pain to bear, nore care, nor woe
No chain to bind you tight,

Flying cheerfully to and fro,
In happy, playful flight.

But then again methinks it less

Than happiness I gain,

While this poor heart is in distress,

Wrapped in grief and pain.

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