Song of Life

What say the woods when soft winds sigh The thrush and linnet in the thorn,

Their gentle evening lullaby, Raising their voice to meet the morn;

When every leaf on every spray The skylark, as he shakes the dew

Catches the zephyrs as they stray; From off his wings, and flies from view,

What is their language, poet, say? To sing his lays in ether blue-

They sing of life; All sing of life;

They sing of life. All sing of life,

The soft, sweet breath of gentle spring, To echo their tremendous roar-

Calling the earth to blossoming: Doth sing of life;

The nectrous drops of summer showers, Doth sing of life;

Opening the leaves of lovely flowers,

To smile upon this earth of ours What saith yon bright-haired happy boy,

Doth sing of life; With bounding step, and look of joy,

Doth sing of life. Dreams he that aught [ought] but joy can be

His loud, mild laugh of artless glee,

The bees, which store their waxen cells, His gladsome voice is sweet to me.-

With honied spoils of fox-glove bells; It sings of life;

The flies which, on the sun's bright ray, It sings of life;

Wanton their thread of life a day,

In restlessness and sport away- All things which meet the wand'ring eye,

All sing of life; From flowery earth to starry sky;

All sing of life. The joy of morn, the calm of even,

All on the earth, in air, in heaven,

The gentle ripples of the sea, All which a bounteous God hath given-

Its mountain waves, in maddening glee, Doth sing of life;

Dashing their foam wreaths o'er the shore, Doth sing of life;

Calling on cliff and rock so hoar