Classic Poem

The little birds fill all the air with their glee,
Yet they've not half so much to be glad of as we:
So with thrushes and blackbirds we'll joyfully sing
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King.

The grasshopper chirps in the long summer grass,
The frisking lambs bleat in the fields as we pass:
So with wee things and young things we'll joyfully sing.
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King.

The river shouts glad, as it dances along,
The little stream murmurs a sweet, quiet song:
So with rivers and streamlets we'll joyfully sing
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King.

The breezes sing soft 'mid the thick leaves of June,
E'en the hoarse wintry wind tries to whistle a tune:
So with soft winds and strong winds we'll joyfully sing
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King.

Pleasant songs at his work hums the blithe, busy bee,
And we'll not be less blithe or less busy than he:
So with all busy creatures we'll joyfully sing
All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King.

Thus God gives a measure of gladness to all,
And a share of His praises to great and to small:
So we who owe most will most thankfully sing,
And our voices, though weak, to His footstool shall ring.