Your nest is all built, and your birdies are there,

Hidden away from the draughts of the air;

O pretty songster of garden and glen,

Whistle again, birdie, whistle again!

Who taught you to build such a wonderful nest?

There you may rock all the night in your rest,

Swung by the breezes till morn cometh, then,

Whistle again, birdie, whistle again!

O, pretty oriole, where is your mate?

Still he is searching and breakfast is late.

Call him from hill-top, call him from glen;

Whistle again, birdie, whistle again!