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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Little Bird</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The father sits in his lonely room, <br> Outside sings a little bird.<br>But the shadows are laden with death and gloom, <br> And the song is all unheard.<br>The father's heart is the home of sorrow; <br> His breast is the seat of grief! <br>Who will hunt the paper for him on the morrow -<br> Who will bring him sweet relief<br>From wearing his thoughts with innocent chat? <br>Who will find his slippers and bring his hat? <br> Still the little bird sings<br> And flutters her wings; <br>The refrain of her song is, 'Gos knows best! <br>He giveth His little children rest.'<br>What can she know of these sorrowful things? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mother sits by the desolate hearth, <br> And weeps o'er a vacant chair.<br>Sorrow has taken the place of mirth -<br> Joy has resigned to despair.<br>Bitter the cup the mother is drinking, <br> So bitter the tear-drops start.<br>Sad are the thoughts the mother is thinking -<br> Oh, they will break her heart.<br>Who will on errands, and romp and play, <br>And mimic the robins the livelong day? <br> Still the little bird sings<br> And flutters her wings; <br>'God reigns in heaven, and He will keep <br>The dear little children that fall asleep.'<br>What can she know of these sorrowful things? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Grandmother sits by the open door, <br> And her tears fall down like rain.<br>Was there ever a household so sad before, <br> Will it ever be glad agaiin? <br>Many unwelcome thoughts come flitting<br> Into the granddame's mind.<br>Who will take up the stitches she drops in knitting? <br> Who will her snuff-box find? <br>Who'll bring her glasses, and wheel her chair, <br>And tie her kerchief, and comb her hair? <br> Still the little bird sings<br> And flutters her wings; <br>'God above doeth all things well, <br>I sang it the same when my nestlings fell.'<br>Ah! this knows the bird of these sorrowful things.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384644" data-title="The Little Bird de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="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..."></div>
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