In yonder brake there is a nest;
But come not, George, too nigh,
Lest the poor mother, frightened thence,
Should leave her young, and fly!
Think with what pain, for many a day,
Soft moss and straw she brought;
And let our own dear mother's care
Be present to our thought.
And think how must her heart deplore,
And droop with grief and pain,
If those she reared, and nursed, and loved,
She ne'er should see again.