It’s O my heart, my heart,
  To be out in the sun and sing—
To sing and shout in the fields about,
  In the balm and the blossoming!

Sing loud, O bird in the tree;
  O bird, sing loud in the sky,
And honey-bees, blacken the clover beds—
  There is none of you glad as I.

The leaves laugh low in the wind,
  Laugh low, with the wind at play;        
And the odorous call of the flowers all
  Entices my soul away!

For O but the world is fair, is fair—
  And O but the world is sweet!
I will out in the gold of the blossoming mould,       
  And sit at the Master’s feet.

And the love my heart would speak,
  I will fold in the lily’s rim,
That th’ lips of the blossom, more pure and meek,
  May offer it up to Him.
     
Then sing in the hedgerow green, O thrush,
  O skylark, sing in the blue;
Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear,
  And my soul shall sing with you!