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Have you ever heard of the Sing-away bird,
That sings where the Runaway River
Runs down with its rills to the bald-headed hills
That stand in the sunshine and shiver?
"Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!"
How the pines and the birches are stirred
By the trill of the Sing-away bird!
'T was a white-throated sparrow, that sped a light arrow
Of song from his musical quiver,
And it pierced with its spell every valley and dell
On the banks of the Runaway River.
"Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!"
The song of the wild singer had
The sound of a soul that is glad.
And the bald-headed hills, with their rocks and their rills,
To the tune of rapture are ringing;
And their faces grow young, all the gray mists among,
While the forests break forth into singing!
"Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!"
And the river runs singing along;
And the flying winds catch up the song.
And, beneath the glad sun, every glad-hearted one
Sets the world to the tune of his gladness:
The swift rivers sing it, the wild breezes wing it,
Till Earth loses thought of her sadness.
"Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!"
Oh, sing, happy soul, to joy's Giver,
Sing on, by Time's Runaway River!
—Lucy Larcom.
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