The Little Doves

High on the top of an old pine-tree

Broods a mother-dove with her young ones three.

Warm over them is her soft, downy breast,

And they sing so sweetly in their nest.

"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest on the old pine-tree.

Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night,

Each young one covered and tucked in tight;

Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light,

And they sing to each other with all their might.

"Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest on the old pine tree,

When in the nest they are all left alone,

While their mother far for their dinner has flown,

Quiet and gentle they all remain,

Till their mother they see come home again.

Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest on the old pine-tree,

When they are fed by their tender mother,

One never will push nor crowd another:

Each opens widely his own little bill,

And he patiently waits, and gets his fill.

Then, "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest on the old pine-tree.

Wisely the mother begins by and by

To make her young ones learn to fly;

Just for a little way over the brink

Then back to the nest as quick as a wink.

And "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she,

All in their nest on the old pine-tree.

Fast grow the young ones, day and night,

Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight;

Till unto them at the last draws nigh

The time when they all must say "Good-by."

Then "Coo," say the little ones, "coo," says she,

And away they fly from the old pine-tree.

Carols, Hymns, and Songs