Within the heart a merry bird
⁠Poured out through life's dull toils its music sweet;
What though one soul alone its warblings heard,
⁠And to itself its carols would repeat.

Tempest nor cold could drive the bird away —
⁠Through leafless boughs still swept its tireless song;
Sadder, perhaps, when skies were lowering, gray,
⁠But with the rosy tints how loud, how long.

Hunger nor thirst could bid the bird depart,
⁠Around for want's scant crumbs it warbling flew;
In the forsaken chambers of the heart,
⁠Through poverty, its lays the sweeter grew.

And when despair the cage wide open set,
⁠Still did it linger, still it would not go —
Its daily welcome it could not forget,
⁠It had its cheering notes even for woe!

And when affection's hand must loose its hold,
⁠And loving accents fail the death-dulled ear,
Still in the heart its wings 't will softly fold,
⁠Still will its song the passing spirit cheer.