The child leans on its parent's breast,
Leaves there its cares and is at rest;
The bird sits singing by his nest,
And tells aloud
His trust in God, and so is blest
'Neath every cloud.
He has no store, he sows no seed;
Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed;
By flowing stream or grassy mead,
He sings to shame
Men, who forget, in fear of need,
A Father's name.
The heart that trusts for ever sings,
And feels as light as it had wings;
A well of peace within it springs;
Come good or ill.
Whate'er to-day, to-morrow, brings,
It is his will.
--Isaac Williams.