THE BIRD'S HOME.

O where is thy home, sweet bird, With the song, and the bright, glossy plume? "I 'll tell thee where I rest, If thou wilt not rob my nest;— I built among the sweet apple bloom."

But what 's in thy nest, bright bird? What 's there, in the snug, downy cell? "If thou wilt not rob the tree; Nor go too near, to see My quiet little home, I will tell."

O! I will not thy trust betray, But closely thy secret I will keep. "I 've three little tender things, That have never used their wings! I left them there, at home, fast asleep."

Then, why art thou here, my bird, Away from thy young, helpless brood? "To pay thee with a song, Just to let me pass along, Nor harm me, as I look for their food!"