Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Emily ChubbuckJudson305 My Bird
E
A birdling sought my Indian nest,
And folded, O, so lovingly,
Her tiny wings upon my breast.
In winsome helplessness she lies,
Two rose-leaves, with a silken fringe,
Shut softly on her starry eyes.
Broad earth owns not a happier nest;
O God, thou hast a fountain stirred,
Whose waters nevermore shall rest!
This seeming visitant from Heaven,
This bird with the immortal wing,
To me—to me, Thy hand has given.
The blood its crimson hue, from mine;—
This life, which I have dared invoke,
Henceforth is parallel with Thine.
I tremble with delicious fear;
The future, with its light and gloom,
Time and Eternity, are here.
Hear, O my God! one earnest prayer:
Room for my bird in Paradise,
And give her angel plumage there!