<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420786" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Robin</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">MY old Welsh neighbor over the way<br>Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,<br>Pushed from her ears the locks of gray,<br>And listened to hear the robin sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped,<br>And, cruel in sport as boys will be,<br>Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped<br>From bough to bough in the apple-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Nay!' said the grandmother; 'have you not heard,<br>My poor, bad boy! of the fiery pit,<br>And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird<br>Carries the water that quenches it?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'He brings cool dew in his little bill,<br>And lets it fall on the souls of sin<br>You can see the mark on his red breast still<br>Of fires that scorch as he drops it in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast-burned bird,<br>Singing so sweetly from limb to limb,<br>Very dear to the heart of Our Lord<br>Is he who pities the lost like Him!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Amen!' I said to the beautiful myth;<br>'Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well:<br>Each good thought is a drop wherewith<br>To cool and lessen the fires of hell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Prayers of love like rain-drops fall,<br>Tears of pity are cooling dew,<br>And dear to the heart of Our Lord are all<br>Who suffer like Him in the good they do! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=420786" data-title="The Robin de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="MY old Welsh neighbor over the way Crept slowly out in the sun of spring, Pushed from her ears the locks of gray, And listened to hear the robin sing. Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped, And, cruel in sport as boys will be, Tossed a stone ..."></div> </div> </div>

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