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Poem “The Little Bird” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poems of reflection

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American LiteratureAmerican PoetryElla Wheeler WilcoxPoems by Ella Wheeler WilcoxPoems of reflection
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The Little Bird


The father sits in his lonely room,
  Outside sings a little bird.
But the shadows are laden with death and gloom,
  And the song is all unheard.
The father’s heart is the home of sorrow;
  His breast is the seat of grief!
Who will hunt the paper for him on the morrow
  Who will bring him sweet relief
From wearing thought with innocent chat?
Who will find his slippers and bring his hat?
  Still the little bird sings
  And flutters her wings;
The refrain of her song is, “God knows best!
He giveth his little children rest.”
What can she know of these sorrowful things?

The mother sits by the desolate hearth,
  And weeps o’er a vacant chair.
Sorrow has taken the place of mirth
  Joy has resigned to despair.
Bitter the cup the mother is drinking,
  So bitter the tear-drops start.
Sad are the thoughts the mother is thinking–
  Oh, they will break her heart.
Who will run on errands, and romp and play,
And mimic the robins the livelong day?
  Still the little bird sings
  And flutters her wings;
“God reigns in heaven, and He will keep
The dear little children that fall asleep.”
What can she know of these sorrowful things?

Grandmother sits by the open door,
  And her tears fall down like rain.
Was there ever a household so sad before,
  Will it ever be glad again?
Many unwelcome thoughts come flitting
  Into the granddame’s mind.
Who will take up the stitches she drops in knitting?
  Who will her snuff-box find?
Who’!! bring her glasses, and wheel her chair,
And tie her kerchief, and comb her hair?
  Still the little bird sings
  And flutters her wings;
“God above doeth all things well,
I sang it the same when my nestlings fell.”
Ah! this knows the bird of these sorrowful things.


< < < A Tribute to Vinnie Ream
Vampires > > >

American LiteratureAmerican PoetryElla Wheeler WilcoxPoems by Ella Wheeler WilcoxPoems of reflection


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