A Little Bird, With Plumage Brown, Beside My Window Flutters Down, A Moment Chirps Its Little Strain, Ten Taps Upon My Window-Pane, And Chirps Again, And Hops Along, To Call My Notice To Its Song; But I Work On, Nor Heed Its Lay, Till, In Neglect, It Flies Away. So Birds Of Peace And Hope And Love Come Fluttering Earthward From Above, To Settle On Life'S Window-Sills, And Ease Our Load Of Earthly Ills; But We, In Traffic'S Rush And Din Too Deep Engaged To Let Them In, With Deadened Heart And Sense Plod On, Nor Know Our Loss Till They Are Gone.