A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing,
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, My God, it pleases Thee.
Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom I most love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.
Thou hast an ear to hear,
A heart to love and bless
And though my notes were e’er so rude,
Thou wouldst not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest that as they fall,
That love, sweet love, inspires them all.
My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart’s at liberty.
My prison walls cannot control,
The flight, the freedom of the soul.
O, it is good to soar,
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find,
The joy, the freedom of the mind.
—Jeanne Marie de la Motte-Guyon,
And Mama, there’s another good girl name, by the way.
