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 are 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 mold
And sit at the Master's feet.

And the love my heart would speak
I will fold in the lily's rim,
That the 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.