The skylark’s nest among the grass
And waving corn is found;
The robin’s on a shady bank,
With oak leaves strewn around.
The wren builds in an ivied thorn,
Or old and ruined wall;
The mossy nest, so covered in,
You scarce can see at all.
The martins build their nests of clay,
In rows beneath the eaves;
While silvery lichens, moss and hair,
The chaffinch interweaves.
The cuckoo makes no nest at all,
But through the wood she strays
Until she finds one snug and warm,
And there her egg she lays.
The sparrow has a nest of hay,
With feathers warmly lined;
The ring-dove’s careless nest of sticks
On lofty trees we find.
Rooks build together in a wood,
And often disagree;
The owl will build inside a barn
Or in a hollow tree.
The blackbird’s nest of grass and mud
In brush and bank is found;
The lapwing’s darkly spotted eggs
Are laid upon the ground.
The magpie’s nest is girt with thorns
In leafless trees or hedge;
The wild duck and the water-hen
Build by the water’s edge.
Birds build their nests from year to year,
According to their kind,
Some very neat and beautiful,
Some easily designed.
The habits of each little bird,
And all its patient skill,
Are surely taught by God Himself
And ordered by His will.