| Citation |
NYJ-N.771.106
11 Jul 1771:41 (1488)
To a robin, which has lately taken up his residence in the
Cathedral at Bristol, and accompanies the organ with his
singing.
Sweet, social bird! whose soft harmonious lays,
Swell the glad song of thy creator's praise;
Say, art thou conscious of approaching ills?
Tell winter's storms--the pointed blast that kills?
Shunn'st thou the savage north's unpitying breath
Or cruel man's more latent snares of death?
Here dwell secure; here, with incessant note,
Pour the soft musick of thy trembling throat.
. . . [20 more lines]
Thou perch't on high shalt hear th' adoring throng,
Catch the warm strains, and aid the sacred song,
Increase the solemn chorus, and inspire,
Each tongue with music, and each heart with fire.
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