|
The Gift |
|
A poor orphan girl named Maria |
|
was walking to market one day |
|
she stopped for to rest by the road side |
|
where a bird with a broken wing lay |
|
a few moments passed till she saw it |
|
for its feathers were covered with sand |
|
and soon clean and wrapped it was traveling |
|
in the warmth of Maria's small hand |
|
she happily gave her last peso |
|
on a cage made of rushes and twine |
|
she fed it loose corn from the market |
|
and watched it grow stronger with time |
|
now the gift-giving service was coming |
|
and the chruch shone with tinsel and light |
|
and all of the town folk brought presents |
|
to lay by the manger that night |
|
there were diamonds, incense and perfumes |
|
and packages fit for a king |
|
but for one ragged bird in a small cage |
|
Maria had nothing to bring |
|
she waited till just before midnight |
|
so no one would see her go in |
|
and crying she knelt by the manger |
|
for her gift was unworthy of him |
|
then a voice spoke to her through the darkness |
|
Maria what brings you to me |
|
if the bird in the cage is your offering |
|
open the door let me see |
|
so she trembled she did as he asked her |
|
and out of the cage the bird flew |
|
soaring up into the rafters |
|
on a wing that had healed good as new |
|
just then the midnight bells rang out |
|
and the little bird started to sing |
|
a song that no words could recapture |
|
for its beauty was fit for a king |
|
now Maria felt blessed just to listen |
|
to that cascade of notes sweet and long |
|
as her offering was lifted to heaven |
|
by the very first nightingale's song |