You know what Luther said the little bird said to him. He sat upon the spray of the tree, and he
sang - “Mortal, cease from toil and sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow.” And it chirped and picked up its little grain, and sang again.
And yet it had no granary; it had not a handful of wheat
stored up anywhere; but it still kept on with its
chirping - “Mortal, cease from toil and sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow.”
Charles Spurgeon