Sweet sing the birds in lowly strains,
All mingled in their song;
For lovely Spring is here again,
And Winter’s cold is gone.

All things around seem filled with glee,
And joy swells every breast;
The buds are peeping from each bush,
Where soon the birds will rest.

The meadows now are fresh and green,
The flowers are bursting forth,
And nature seems to us serene,
And shows her sterling worth.

The lark sores high up in the air,
We listen to his lays;
He knows no sorrow nor no care,
Nor weariness o’ days.

But men, though born of noble birth,
Assigned for higher spheres,
Walks his sad journey here on earth
All full o’ doubts and fears.