There’s not a bird with lone­ly nest,
In path­less wood or mount­ain crest,
Nor mean­er thing, which does not share,
O God, in Thy pa­ter­nal care.

Each bar­ren crag, each de­sert rude,
Holds Thee with­in its so­li­tude;
And Thou dost bless the wan­d’rer there,
Who makes his so­li­ta­ry pray­er.

In bu­sy mart and crowd­ed street,
No less than in the still re­treat,
Thou, Lord, art near, our souls to bless
With all a par­ent’s ten­der­ness.

And we, where’er our lot is cast,
While life, and thought, and feel­ing last,
Through all the years, in ev­ery place,
Will bless Thee for Thy bound­less grace.