The English Robin

See yon robin on the spray; Look ye how his tiny form Swells, as when his merry lay Gushes forth amid the storm. Though the snow is falling fast, Specking o’er his coat with white,— Though loud roars the chilly blast, And the evening ’s lost in night,— Yet from out the darkness dreary Cometh still that cheerful note; Praiseful aye, and never weary, Is that little warbling throat. Thank him for his lesson’s sake, Thank God’s gentle minstrel there, Who, when storms make others quake, Sings of days that brighter were.