Upon the Swallow
This pretty bird, O! how she flies and sings, But could she do so if she had not wings? Her wings bespeak my faith, her songs my peace; When I believe and sing my doubtings cease.
John Bunyan’s other poems:
895
Upon the Swallow
This pretty bird, O! how she flies and sings, But could she do so if she had not wings? Her wings bespeak my faith, her songs my peace; When I believe and sing my doubtings cease.
John Bunyan’s other poems:
895