“What a dreary, sorrowful world it this,”
Said the owl from his hollow tree;
“Yet the lark is glad for the garish light,
And the robin can sing in glee.
Poor, foolish birds, they are merry now,
But the angry storms will beat
Through the leaves that shelter their shallow nests,
With the snow and the cutting sleet.”

But higher and higher the glad lark soared,
Till the earth lay far below;
The verdant valleys and waving woods
Smiled back in the sunlight’s glow.
“What a beautiful world has the Father made,”
She sand as she upward flew;
“The land, the water, and over them all
He has spread the sky’s warm blue. (60)