This is the ballad the Bluebird sings,
Unto his mate replying,
Shaking the tune from his wings
While he is flying:
Surely, surely, surely,
Life is dear
Even here.
Blue above,
You to love,
Purely, purely, purely.
There's wild azalea on the hill, and roses down the dell,
And just a spray of lilac still abloom beside the well;
The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink,
Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink.
This is the song of the Yellow-throat,
Fluttering gaily beside you;
Hear how each voluble note
Offers to guide you:
Which way, sir?
I say, sir,
Let me teach you,
I beseech you!
Are you wishing
Jolly fishing?
This way, sir!
Let me teach you.
Oh come, forget your foes and fears, and leave your cares behind,
And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind;
For be your fortune great or small, you'll take what God may give,
And all the day your heart will say, "'Tis luck enough to live."
This is the song the Brown Thrush flings
Out of his thicket of roses;
Hark how it warbles and rings,
Mark how it closes:
Luck, luck,
What luck?
Good enough for me!
I'm alive, you see.
Sun shining, no repining;
Never borrow idle sorrow;
Drop it! Cover it up!
Hold your cup!
Joy will fill it,
Don't spill it!
Steady, be ready,
Love your luck!