Nor anxious toil nor daily care;

Nor fretsome seeks to weave a nest,

That shall defy the ages' wear;

But on the branch the long night sleeps,

Till sun shall don his morning robe,

And then, responsive to God's call,

With quickened thrill sings out his song.

When spring, fair nature's darling child,

Gives place to sultry summer's heat,

And later autumn brings its due,

Dark clouds, and mists, and frequent rains,

Men's hopes fall low, and they are drear;

The bird to other distant lands,

To warmer shores and bluer seas,

Will fly, and wait return of spring.

Like the bird that is free from care,

An exile lone, bird of passage,

He knew not where to lay his head,

Nor was there aught to touch his soul.

To him the world lay open wide,

Nor cared he where he strayed or slept;

But each new day he freely left

To fate's disposal and control.

The changes and alarms of life

Thus failed to break his peace of mind.

At times, the far-off star of fame

Would tempt him leave his ease, and climb;

In vain, the world before him spread

Its idle pomps and pleasures vile;

Not seldom o'er his lonely head

The thunder roared and threat'ning broke;

But naught he recked of tempests rude,

And dozed alike in storm and calm;

He lived his life, nor recognised