One spring morning at the time when Earth has been made new
I was driving and came across a distressing view.
While the sun rose in the sky and trees were turning green
There lay a bird on the cement street my eyes had briskly seen.
I glanced across and looked again—what I saw pulled my heart strings.
There lay the bird, feet facing up, trying to flap its wings.
It struggled and struggled, as it may, struggled so hard to be free,
But it was stuck there on the street with its red underbelly.
I took a breath—but breath had stopped, to see in pain a thing so dear.
I wished to cry, but my poor eye couldn’t muster up a tear.
Are we not like this fallen bird—struggling on the ground?
We’re stuck on Earth, we try to fly, but simply wonder ’round.
It seems our efforts are all for naught—myself I cannot save,
But Someone’s scooped me up off the cement street and made it His own grave.
The sun has risen, the trees are green, my life has been made new.
I now shed a tear, a tear of thanks and praise, as my life I owe to You.