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Birds | ||
| Birds are chirping in the trees. Having toiled, they take their ease. They are calling to a mate, Which is cause to celebrate. They can warble all the day. It's a way for them to pray. Each bird has a diff'rent song; It is not a clanging gong. We, too, have a song of note, Issuing from our own throat. May it now and always be Satisfying, Lord, to Thee. | ||
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