Pretty bird, how cheerfully dost thou sit and sing, and yet knowest not
where thou art, nor where thou shalt make thy next meal; and at night
must shroud thyself in a bush for lodging! What shame is it for me, that
see before me so liberal provisions of my God, and find myself sit warm
under my own roof, yet am ready to droop under a distrustful and
unthankful dullness. Had I so little certainty of my harbor and
purveyance, how heartless should I be, how careful; how little list
should I have to make music to thee or myself. Surely thou comest not
hither without a Providence. God sent thee not so much to delight, as to
shame me, but all in a conviction of my sullen unbelief, who, under more
apparent means, am less cheerful and confident; reason and faith have
not done so much in me, as in thee mere instinct of nature; want of
foresight makes thee more merry, if not more happy here, than the
foresight of better things maketh me.
O God, thy providence is not impaired by those powers thou hast given me
above these brute things; let not my greater helps hinder me from a holy
security and comfortable reliance on thee!