I walked through the woodland meadows.
Where sweet
the thrushes sing;
And I found on a bed of mosses
A bird with
a broken wing.
I healed its wound. and each morning
I t sang
its old sweet strain.
But the bird with the broken pinion
Never
soared as high again.
I found a young life broken
By sin's seductive art;
I took him to my
heart.
He lived with a noble purpose
And
struggled not in vain;
But the life that sin had stricken
Never soared as high again.
But the bird with the broken pinion
Kept
another from the snare;
And the life that sin had stricken
Raised
another from despair.
Each loss has its compensation.
There is
healing for every pain;
But the bird with a broken pinion
Never soars
as high again.
Hezekiah
Butterworth.
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