A song welled up in the singer's heart,
(Like song in the throat of a bird,)
And loud he sang, and far it rang,--
For his heart was strangely stirred;
And he sang for the very joy of song,
With no thought of one who heard.
Within the listener's wayward soul
A heavenly patience grew.
He fared on his way with a benison
ON the singer, who never knew
How the careless song of an idle hour
Had shaped a life anew.
