The Singing Heart
Thou Heart! why dost thou lift thy voice?
The birds are mute; the skies are dark;
Nor doth a living thing rejoice;
Nor doth a living creature hark;
Yet thou art singing in the dark.
How small thou art; how poor and frail;
Thy prime is past; thy friends are chill;
Yet as thou had'st not any ail
Throughout the storm thou liftest still
A praise that winter cannot chill.
Then sang that happy Heart reply:
“God lives, God loves, and hears me sing.
How warm, how safe, how glad am I,
In shelter 'neath his spreading wing!—
And there I cannot choose but sing.”
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