C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

A Song: ‘There is ever a song somewhere, my dear’

THERE is ever a song somewhere, my dear,

There is ever a something sings alway:

There’s the song of the lark when the skies are clear,

And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray;

The sunshine showers across the grain,

And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;

And in and out, when the eaves drip rain,

The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,

Be the skies above or dark or fair;

There is ever a song that our hearts may hear—

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear—

There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,

In the midnight black or the midday blue:

The robin pipes when the sun is here,

And the cricket chirrups the whole night through;

The buds may blow and the fruit may grow,

And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sere:

But whether the sun or the rain or the snow,

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.