And these his simple words:--
"Father, how cold it blows!
What 'comes of all the birds
Amidst the storms and snows?"

"They fly far, far away
From storms, and snows, and rain;
But, Charley dear, next May
They'll all come back again."

"And will my flowers come, too?"
The little fellow said,
"And all be bright and new,
That now looks cold and dead?"

"O, yes, dear; in the spring
The flowers will all revive,
The birds return and sing,
And all be made alive."

"Who shows the birds the way,
Father, that they must go?
And brings them back in May,
When there is no more snow?

"And when no flower is seen
Upon the hill and plain,
Who'll make it all so green,
And bring the flowers again?"