LITMIR.BIZ

      Faintly as tolls the evening chime,

      Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

      Soon as the woods on shore look dim,

      We’ll sing at St. Ann’s our parting hymn.

      Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,

      The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!

      Why should we yet our sail unfurl?

      There is not a breath the blue wave to curl!

      But when the wind blows off the shore,

      Oh! sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar.

      Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,

      The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!

      Utawas’ tide! this trembling moon

      Shall see us float over thy surges soon.

      Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayers;

      Oh! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs.

      Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,

      The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!

      Attempt the end and never stand in doubt;

      Nothing’s so hard but search will find it out.

      There is a bird I know so well,

      It seems as if he must have sung

      Beside my crib when I was young;

      Before I knew the way to spell

      The name of even the smallest bird,

      His gentle, joyful song I heard.

      Now see if you can tell, my dear,

      What bird it is, that every year,

      Sings “Sweet – sweet – sweet – very merry cheer.”

      He comes in March, when winds are strong,

      And snow returns to hide the earth;

      But still he warms his head with mirth,

      And waits for May. He lingers long

      While flowers fade, and every day

      Repeats his sweet, contented lay;

      As if to say we need not fear

      The seasons’ change, if love is here,

      With “Sweet – sweet – sweet – very merry cheer.”

      He does not wear a Joseph’s coat

      Of many colors, smart and gay;

      His suit is Quaker brown and gray,

      With darker patches at his throat.

      And yet of all the well-dressed throng,

      Not one can sing so brave a song.

      It makes the pride of looks appear

      A vain and foolish thing to hear

      His “Sweet – sweet – sweet – very merry cheer.”

      A lofty place he does not love,

      But sits by choice, and well at ease,

      In hedges, and in little trees

      That stretch their slender arms above

      The meadow-brook; and there he sings

      Till all the field with pleasure rings;

      And so he tells in every ear,

      That lowly homes to heaven are near

      In “Sweet – sweet – sweet – very merry cheer.”

      I like the tune, I like the words;

      They seem so true, so free from art,

      So friendly, and so full of heart,

      That if but one of all the birds

      Could be my comrade everywhere,

      My little brother of the air,

      This is the one I’d choose, my dear,

      Because he’d bless me, every year,

      With “Sweet – sweet – sweet – very merry cheer.”

      From “The Builders and Other Poems.”

      Copyright, 1897, by Charles Scribner’s Sons.

      The only way to have a friend is to be one.