See, sister, where the chickens trip,
All busy in the morn,
Look, how their heads they dip and dip,
To peck the scattered corn.
Dear sister, shall we shut our eyes,
And to the sight be blind,
Nor think of him who food supplies,
To us, and all mankind?
Or many be our wants, or few,
Or fine, or coarse, our fare,
To Heaven's protecting care is due,
The voice of praise and prayer.