THE BIRD'S HOME.

O where is thy home, sweet bird,

With the song, and the bright, glossy plume?

“I‘ ll tell thee where I rest,

If thou wilt not rob my nest;—

I built among the sweet apple bloom.”

But what‘ s in thy nest, bright bird?

What‘ s there, in the snug, downy cell?

“If thou wilt not rob the tree;

Nor go too near, to see

My quiet little home, I will tell.”

O! I will not thy trust betray,

But closely thy secret I will keep.

“I‘ ve three little tender things,

That have never used their wings!

I left them there, at home, fast asleep.”

Then, why art thou here, my bird,

Away from thy young, helpless brood?

“To pay thee with a song,

Just to let me pass along,

Nor harm me, as I look for their food!”