If Ever I See

      If ever I see,       On bush or tree,   Young birds in their pretty nest,       I must not in play,       Steal the birds away,   To grieve their mother's breast.       My mother, I know,       Would sorrow so,   Should I be stolen away;       So I'll speak to the birds       In my softest words,   Nor hurt them in my play.       And when they can fly       In the bright blue sky,   They'll warble a song to me;       And then if I'm sad       It will make me glad   To think they are happy and free. LYDIA MARIA CHILD