One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!"...
When in a May-day hush Chanteth the Missel-thrush The harp o' the heart makes answer with murmurous stirs; When Robin-redbreast sings, We think on budding springs,...
There are who give themselves to work for men, - To raise the lost, to gather orphaned babes And teach them, pitying of their mean estate, To feel for misery, and to look on crime...