The Rising of the Lark
Rise, rise, thou merry lark,
Whose upward flight I love to mark,
At early dawn of day.
Leave, leave, thy mossy lair,
With light wing cleave the yielding air,
And carol forth thy lay!
Sweet, oh sweet the honeyed note
That swells within thy warbling throat!
'Tis a stream of melody
That steals the raptured soul away,
Delightful harbinger of day
My blessing go with thee!
Night's ling'ring shades are fled,
And Phoebus, from his ocean bed
Through aether wings his flight.
Oh! let my music sweet
His presence with glad welcome greet
In ditties of delight!
Higher yet, still higher fly
Still soaring upward to the sky;
As when, in Eden's fairest grove
Unto the new created pair
You first did tune, to music rare,
A merry song of love!
-or-
Hark! Hark! his matin praise
In warblings sweet the lark doth raise
To Paradise above
Are they the pearls of song
Drop'd by a countless angel throng
when singing peace and love?
Scarce doth move the gossamer,
Nor doth the purple heather stir,
Now the brook doth pause to hear
while hiding neath the rushy ground
So heav'nly tender is the sound
That comes to mankind to cheer
Rise, rise, oh lark, then rise
On soft grey wing toward the skies;
Ascending higher yet:
May no sweet note be lost!
Rise nearer to that happy host,
That earthly pains forget!
Sing and let the wide world hear
The melody so sweet and clear.
Waking longing in mankind
To follow to those heights untrod,
Yet nearer day and nearer God
Eternal joy to find! | 
