Word: twelve
There's nothing quite so beautiful among the realms of melody
Ethereal and heavenly and absolutely calm
As early in the morning I awaken from my slumbering
And hear the rhythmic pipings of the robins' morning psalm.
There's nothing so enchanting, so complacent, and so glorious,
That shows such certain cofidence in God's almighty power
As early in the eveing I put aside my laboring
Ethereal and heavenly and absolutely calm
As early in the morning I awaken from my slumbering
And hear the rhythmic pipings of the robins' morning psalm.
There's nothing so enchanting, so complacent, and so glorious,
That shows such certain cofidence in God's almighty power
As early in the eveing I put aside my laboring
And hear the sleepy twitterings of robins in the bower.
There's nothing so miraculous that shows such perfect surety,
That after tears and sorrowing will come a sweet refrain,
As when the skies are glowering, and wetting us imparitally
I listen to the gladsome song of robins in the rain.
There's nothing so miraculous that shows such perfect surety,
That after tears and sorrowing will come a sweet refrain,
As when the skies are glowering, and wetting us imparitally
I listen to the gladsome song of robins in the rain.
