AN APRIL RAIN.

You poor little birds, It’s happened again— In the midst of your play Down patters the rain. You were caught in a shower Just so last week, And I thought that morning I ought to speak;

I hear you all up A-singing at dawn, I know you have tried Each tree on the lawn, Yet not one of you all Have picked up a straw— Such improvident birds I ne’er before saw. But I hope you see now That it would be best To let your play go And build you a nest.