Lark

I went to lay wood,
And put in a pile.
And in the fields close by,
A lark sang all the while.

It made my heart feel good,
To hear that beautiful sound.
That floated in so softly,
From wood-tufts on the ground.

It filled my ears with hearing,
I stood so very still.
As the stirring air brought trebles,
Of the lark's delightful trill.

To pour those strains so clearly,
And hold out every note.
Was such a miracle coming,
From the magic of his throat.

O be like the lark that's singing,
Be happy...and be gay.
And what you do...do better,
And give it all away.


E.P. 1908 - 1989