MUSIC
There is music in the woodlands
When the birds their carols sing,
As they flit about the old oaks
Where the ivy tendrils cling.
When the birds their carols sing,
As they flit about the old oaks
Where the ivy tendrils cling.
Warblers, orioles and linnets,
Blue-birds with their brilliant hue;
While the sky-lark sings his sonnet
In the sky's ethereal blue.
Blue-birds with their brilliant hue;
While the sky-lark sings his sonnet
In the sky's ethereal blue.
Oh! is any of the music
That the listening ear has heard
Half so pure and sweet and lovely
As the singing of a bird?
That the listening ear has heard
Half so pure and sweet and lovely
As the singing of a bird?
There is music in the meadows
At the closing of the day,
When the gentle cows are coming,
Slowly, on their homeward way.
At the closing of the day,
When the gentle cows are coming,
Slowly, on their homeward way.
Drinking from the singing brooklet,
Cropping clover in the dells;
Listen! is not this sweet music,
Murmuring stream and tinkling bells?
Cropping clover in the dells;
Listen! is not this sweet music,
Murmuring stream and tinkling bells?
There is music in the forest,
In the rustling of the trees,
In the chattering of the squirrels,
In the humming of the bees.
In the rustling of the trees,
In the chattering of the squirrels,
In the humming of the bees.
Hark! the tall pine-trees are singing,
Wailing forth their requiem, low;
While the chipmunks clamber briskly
O'er the mossy logs below.
Wailing forth their requiem, low;
While the chipmunks clamber briskly
O'er the mossy logs below.
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