MAKE me a song of all good things, And fill it full of murmurings, Of merry voices, such as we Remember in our infancy; But make it tender, for the sake Of hearts that brood and tears that break, And tune it with the harmony, The sighs of sorrow make. Make me a song of summer-time, And pour such music down the rhyme As ripples over gleaming sands And grassy brinks of meadow-lands; But make it very sweet and low, For need of them that sorrow so, Because they reap with empty hands The dreams of long ago. Make me a song of such a tone, That when we croon it all alone, The tears of longing as they drip, Will break in laughter on the lip; And make it, oh, so pure and clear And jubilant that every ear Shall drink its rapture sip by sip, And Heaven lean to hear. |