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A Child's Own Book of Verse II by  Ada M. Skinner




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!


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