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!