Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Matthew 6:26
Words: Baptist W. Noel, 1832.
If you know when the music was written,
There’s not a bird with lonely nest,
In pathless wood or mountain crest,
Nor meaner thing, which does not share,
O God, in Thy paternal care.
Each barren crag, each desert rude,
Holds Thee within its solitude;
And Thou dost bless the wand’rer there,
Who makes his solitary prayer.
In busy mart and crowded street,
No less than in the still retreat,
Thou, Lord, art near, our souls to bless
With all a parent’s tenderness.
And we, where’er our lot is cast,
While life, and thought, and feeling last,
Through all the years, in every place,
Will bless Thee for Thy boundless grace.