I will out in the old of the blossoming mould,
And sit at the Master’s feet.
And the love my heart would speak,
I will fold in the lily’s rim,
That the lips of the blossom more pure and meek
May offer it up to Him.
Then sing in the hedgerow green, O thrush,
O skylark, sing in the blue;
Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear,
And my soul shall sing with you.