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| SWEET 1 bird! up earliest in the morn, | |
| Up earliest in the year, | |
| Far in the quiet mist are borne | |
| Thy matins soft and clear. | |
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| As linnet soft, and clear as lark, | 5 |
| Well hast thou ta’en thy part, | |
| Where many an ear thy notes may reach, | |
| And here and there a heart. | |
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| The first snow wreaths are scarcely gone, | |
| (They stayed but half a day,) | 10 |
| The berries bright hang ling’ring on, | |
| Yet thou hast learnt thy lay. | |
| |
| One gleam, one gale of western air, | |
| Has hardly brushed thy wing; | |
| Yet thou hast given thy welcome fair, | 15 |
| Good-morrow to the spring! | |
| |
| Perhaps within thy carol’s sound | |
| Some wakeful mourner lies, | |
| Dim roaming days and years around, | |
| That ne’er again may rise. | 20 |
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| He thanks thee with a tearful eye, | |
| For thou hast winged his spright | |
| Back to some hour when hopes were nigh | |
| And dearest friends in sight; | |
| |
| That single fearless note of thine | 25 |
| Has pierced the cloud of care, | |
| And lit awhile the gleam divine | |
| That blessed his infant prayer; | |
| |
| Ere he had known, his faith to blight, | |
| The scorner’s withering smile, | 30 |
| While hearts, he deemed, beat true and right | |
| Here in our Christian Isle. | |
| |
| That sunny morning glimpse is gone, | |
| That morning note is still; | |
| The dun dark day comes lowering on, | 35 |
| The spoilers roam at will; | |
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| Yet calmly rise, and boldly shrive; | |
| The sweet bird’s early song | |
| Ere evening fall shall oft revive, | |
| And cheer thee all day long. | 40 |
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| Are we not sworn to serve our King? | |
| He sworn with us to be? | |
| The birds that chant before the spring | |
| Are truer far than we. | |
