SPRING — CUCKOO.

By William Lisle Bowles

The bee is humming in the sun,

The yellow cowslip springs,

And, hark! from yonder woodland's side

Again the cuckoo sings!

Cuckoo, cuckoo, no other note

She sings from day to day;

But I, though a poor cottage girl,

Can work, and read, and pray.

And whilst in knowledge I rejoice,

Which heavenly truth displays,

Oh! let me still employ my voice

In my Redeemer's praise.