SONGS FOR THE

THE LARK.
I hear a pretty bird, but hark!
I cannot see it anywhere.
Oh, it is a little lark,
Singing in the morning air.
Little lark, do tell me why
You are singing in the sky?

Other little birds at rest,

Have not yet begun to sing ;
Every one is in its nest,

With its head behind its wing.
Little lark, then tell me why
You ’re so early in the sky?

‘You look no bigger than a bee,
In the middle of the blue,
Up above the poplar-tree ;
I can hardly look at you.
Little lark, do tell me why
You are mounted up so high?

’T is to watch the silver star,
Sinking slowly in the skies ;

And beyond the mountain far,
See the glorious sun arise:

Little lady, this is why

I am mounted up so high.