(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 / Bombay)


At night outside my window, I hear tiny birds sing. And whilst my sleep's elusive, they go on twittering. There is no sun to warm them, nor can they see the trees. But they go on trusting God that He will meet their needs. So no need to wait for dawning, a thankful song to share. It matters not to them if dark or night is there. Their songs are raised in trust to their Father's endless giving. His faithfulness of care, the rise of sun and setting. The rain that they may drink, cool air for their refreshing. Their Creator giving love, His manifested blessings. Oh, if only when darkness comes and troubles of every kind, We would listen to the birds singing and keep them in mind. For no matter what's before us, or how dark our night may be, If little birds can sing at night, surely so can we!

by Mary Comley

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Comments (1)

You surely know how to wrote, I like each and every poem of yours