Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Thrush

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The Thrush.
Songster of the russet coat,
Full and liquid is thy note;
Plain thy dress, but great thy skill,
Captivating at thy will.

Small musician of the field,
Near my bower thy tribute yield,
Little servant of the ear,
Ply thy task, and never fear.

I will learn from thee to praise
God, the Author of my days;
I will learn from thee to sing,
Christ, my Saviour and my King,
Learn to labour with my voice,
Make the sinking heart rejoice.

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