bird, thou art;
The morning beam is on thy wings, its influence
in thy heart;
Like matin hymns blest spirits sing in yonder
happy sky,
Break on the ear, the small, sweet notes of thy
wild melody.

Cold winter winds are far away, the cruel snows
have past;
And spring's sweet skies, and blushing flowers
shine o'er the world at last;
Where the young corn springs fresh, and green,
sweet flowerets gather'd he,
And form around thy lowly nest a shelter sweet
for thee.

Is it not this which wakes thy song, with thoughts of
summer hours,
When warmer hues shall clothe the skies, and
darker shades the bowers;
Has nature to thy throbbing heart such glowing
feelings given,
That thou canst feel the beautiful, of this bright
earth and heaven.

If so, how blest must be thy lot, from azure
skies to gaze,
When the fresh morn is in the heavens, or
mid-day splendours blaze;