Morning sparrow do not fly,
But stay aside my stoop and sing,
Your warm, effulgent songs of joy,
That give your life to everything.

Her sharp melody rung,
And spilled in to the air,
The sweetest that was sung,
Arresting and fair.

Joy is the thing which flies,
That frolics in the sun,
Resplendent in the sunny beams,
Eternal life just begun.