Show What is my The morn has but just looked and When he starts from his grassy And is up and with the on his And a-hymn in his to yon pure bright To warble it out in his Maker's my be thy morn's first lays like the toothy is mother my And that sweet like the widow's Is flowing out from- her gentle Constant and by As the wave is poured some crystal For her distant dear one's quick my be thou like the In friendship as as in is my Proudly careering his course of on his own mountain vigor Breaking the dark the red bolt defying Ilis wing on and his eye on the He swerves not a but bears right may the eagle's flight ever be and and true to is mother my He is floating down from his' na tive No no nestling 0 He is floating by to Death darkens his and un- plumes his Yet his sweetest song is the last he Live my that when death shall Swanlike and sweet it may waft thee |