The Wounded Bird

It was from the roadside, All crushed with battered wing, That they retrieved that injured bird Which could no longer sing. All limp without a spark of life No brightness in her eye, The very life light drained away They feared that she would die. That pretty bird had not a prayer Was all that could be said, By those who saw her frail form, She surely must be dead. But soft within her battered chest The wounded heart still fluttered And from the souls of those who saw A mercy prayer was uttered. The uttering grew, it gathered strength It echoed up to heaven And God who knows and sees all things Smiled on this life He’d given. It seemed some task lay incomplete A song remained unsung, And deep within the spirit moved; The healing had begun. All of those who ministered Who carefully made repairs, The heart-struck congregation Who offered up their prayers, Were astonished at the blessing As life returned once more, Determined to praise God anew More fervent than before. For it was God preserved her That she might sing again, To lift her voice in chorus To echo the amen. No other explanation Can possibly be made Now we see His purpose in The life for which we prayed.