|“God resists the proud,|
But gives grace to the humble.
Therefore, humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God,
That He may exalt you in due time,
Casting all your cares upon Him,
For He cares for you…”
1 Peter 5-7
I am the Mighty Sparrow
Across the skies, I soar!
I greet the morning sunlight!
I open heaven’s door!
Gorgeous velvet brown and silken gray,
I’m beautiful, I know it, and I’m not afraid to say,
My beauty is spectacular, the envy of the day!
I am the very image of what beauty ought to be!
All the other birds I know wish they looked like me!
The biggest, plumpest worms are mine!
They crawl up to my royal seat upon the highest tree.
I love to see them wiggle their boneless little spines
And beg that they might be,
The one I choose for breakfast, for dinner or for tea!
I lived next door to a Cardinal once, poor ugly bird was he.
He was best friends with a Blue Jay and I am sad to say,
They hated who they were because they weren’t me!
When will all the other birds get it through their heads?
I am the best, the best there is, there is no one like me!
I laugh at the pathetic Peacock,
Feathers spread behind him, he’s strutting up and down.
He bears a striking image to a garish circus clown!
Join me in my laughter, come along with me!
You can be in my circle of those who worship me!
Please join me in my circle. It will just be you and me.
It’s just me surrounded by my mirrors, so I can check on me.
I don’t know why the other birds avoid me like they do.
I don’t know why they fly away. I don’t know why, do you?
Won’t you tell me what I’m doing wrong? Tell me, tell me true.
Can I tell you a secret?
Do you promise you won’t tell?
Sometimes I am so all alone,
I think that I’m in hell.
When I was just a baby bird, beneath my mother’s wing,
She loved to pull me close to her
And in my little baby ears, a lullaby she’d sing.
I can still hear her sweet, sweet voice
Singing over me...
Stay close to your Father, my baby, my love,
And always sing your song to Him, my little turtle dove,
Little bird, I love you,
and I thank the God who made you, and put you in my nest,
To be my little chickadee, nothing more and nothing less.
She said the Father fashioned me to be a little bird.
To sing the song He gave to me that no one has ever heard.
I am having trouble remembering the words and melody.
I haven’t sung to the Father in so long,
Will He remember me?
I think I’ve lost my way. I think that I have sinned.
Do you think that He'll forgive me?
Do you think He'll let me in?
But, I hear my mother’s tender song, singing over me.
“Bend low, my little sparrow.
You’ll find Him on your knees… “