Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.
The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
You taught me language, and my profit on't / Is, I know how to curse
What must be shall be.