The Birds

When Jesus Christ was four years old
The angels brought Him toys of gold,
Which no man ever had bought or sold.

And yet with these He would not play.
He made Him small fowl out of clay,
And blessed them till they flew away:
Tu creasti Domine

Jesus Christ, Thou child so wise,
Bless mine hands and fill mine eyes,
And bring my soul to Paradise.

Hilaire Belloc

Hilaire Belloc was an Anglo-French writer and historian, known for his poetry, essays, and children's books. Born on July 27, 1870, in France, he became a British citizen and was a prominent figure in early 20th-century British literature. Belloc was a devout Catholic, which significantly influenced his writings. He was a close friend of G.K. Chesterton and shared similar views on social and political issues. Belloc passed away on July 16, 1953, leaving behind a rich legacy of literary works.

Hilaire Belloc

The World Is Full Of Double Beds

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

Lord Lundy

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

The Death And Last Confession Of Wandering Peter

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

Song

Hilaire Belloc, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Songs in the Night.

"Where is God my Maker, Who giveth songs in the night."--Bible.

The hour of midnight had swept past,
    The city bell tolled three,
The moon had sank behind the clouds,
    No rustling in the tree.
All, all was silent as the grave,
    And memories of the tomb,
Had banished sweet sleep far away,
    All spoke of tears and gloom.

When suddenly upon the air.
    Rang out a sweet bird's song,
No feeble, weak, uncertain note,
    No plaint of grief or wrong,
No "Miserere Domine,"
    No "Dies Irea" sad,
But "Gloria in Excelsis" rang,
    In accents wild and glad.

How could he sing? a birdling caged,
    And in the dark alone,
And then methought that he had seen,
    Some vision from God's throne,
The little birdling's ey...

Harriet Annie Wilkins

Consider The Ravens

Lord, according to thy words,
I have considered thy birds;
And I find their life good,
And better the better understood:
Sowing neither corn nor wheat
They have all that they can eat;
Reaping no more than they sow
They have more than they could stow;
Having neither barn nor store,
Hungry again, they eat more.

Considering, I see too that they
Have a busy life, and plenty of play;
In the earth they dig their bills deep
And work well though they do not heap;
Then to play in the air they are not loath,
And their nests between are better than both.
But this is when there blow no storms,
When berries are plenty in winter, and worms,
When feathers are rife, with oil enough--
To keep the cold out and send the rain off;
If there come, indeed, ...

George MacDonald

The Matin-Song Of Friar Tuck

I.

If souls could sing to heaven's high King
    As blackbirds pipe on earth,
How those delicious courts would ring
    With gusts of lovely mirth!
What white-robed throng could lift a song
    So mellow with righteous glee
As this brown bird that all day long
    Delights my hawthorn tree.
        Hark! That's the thrush
            With speckled breast
        From yon white bush
            Chaunting his best,
    Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!


II.

If earthly dreams be touched with gleams
    Of Paradisal air,
Some wings, perchance, of earth may glance
    Around our slumbers there;
Some breaths of may might drift our way
    With scents of leaf and loam,
Some whistling bird at dawn be heard
    From ...

Alfred Noyes

What The Birds Say.

"I hear the birds sing, mother,
    Yet know not what they say;
I've listened to them often
    Until they flew away.

"Say if their words, dear mother,
    To you are clear and plain,
Or if, like me, you've listened
    At morn and night in vain."

"We don't know what they say, dear;
    We think they sing their hymn
At early morning sunrise,
    Or at the twilight dim.

"When softly sings the mother,
    Within her downy nest,
We think she's gently hushing
    Her little ones to rest.

"But this remember, darling,
    The birds are always kind;
A cross or angry songster
    I never yet could find.

"And you may learn a lesson
    From their sweet notes of love;
Like them be always gentle,
    And pl...

H. P. Nichols

Christmas Carols.

1.

Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest,
Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee,
Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest,
Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea.

Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying,
Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest,
Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying,
"Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best."


2.

A holy, heavenly chime
Rings fulness in of time,
And on His Mother's breast
Our Lord God ever-Blest
Is laid a Babe at rest.

Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop,
Swoop, Angels, flying swoop,
Adoring as you gaze,
Uplifting hymns of praise, -
"Grace to the Full of Grace!"

The cave is cold and strait
T...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

The Ballad Of God-Makers

A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.

The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;

The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.

That right the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.

'If he speak two more words,' they said,
'The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
'The stars are under the sea.'

Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown ...

Gilbert Keith Chesterton