Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
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Hail to thee blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

O happy skylark springing
Up to the broad, blue sky,
Too fearless in thy winging,
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O happy skylark springing
Up to the broad, blue sky,
Too fearless in thy winging,
Too gladsome in thy singing,
Thou also soon shalt lie
Where no sweet notes are ringing.

I said to the sky-poised Lark:
"Hark--hark!
Thy note is more loud and free
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I said to the sky-poised Lark:
"Hark--hark!
Thy note is more loud and free
Because there lies safe for thee
A little nest on the ground."

The merry lark he soars on high,
No worldly thought o'ertakes him.
He sings aloud to the read more

The merry lark he soars on high,
No worldly thought o'ertakes him.
He sings aloud to the clear blue sky,
And the daylight that awakes him.

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of read more

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long,
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm.
So hallowed and so gracious is that time.

The lark now leaves his watery nest,
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
He takes your window read more

The lark now leaves his watery nest,
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings.
He takes your window for the East
And to implore your light he sings.

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms
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Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy swelling-place--
O, to abide in the desert with thee!

The bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that read more

The bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
In lark and nightingale we see
What honor hath humility.

Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.

Then my dial goes not true; I look this lark for a bunting.