A thousand tiny warblers
Made the grove with music ring:
When I heard the joyous trilling
Of a lark upon the wing,
And I thought the notes the sweetest
Of the sweet-voiced songsters there,
While it mounted, singing, singing,
Ever singing through the air.
I listened to the rippling,
Of a streamlet down the vale:
When in the evening stillness,
Outsang a nightingale;
While all around were sleeping,
The tuneful feathered throng,
Far o’er the moonlit country
Rang forth the loving song.
I heard the low, soft singing
Of a happy little child,
And the subject was of Jesus,
“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.”
I had lingered o’er the night-song,
And o’er the lark’s rich bar;
But I thought of all the music,
This the sweetest music far.
Then she sang of Jesus sleeping
Upon the stormy sea;
And because she sang of Jesus,
Was the song so sweet to me;
And I asked the Lord to keep her
All the desert journey through;
Singing out the praise of Jesus,
To His Name and glory true.
ML 06/11/1922