In the valley of my life Sings a "Singing-Bird", And its voice thro' calm and strife¹ Is sweetly heard.

    In the day and thro' the night Sound the notes, And its song thro' dark and bright Ever floats.

    Other warblers cease to sing, And their voices rest, And they fold their weary wing In their quiet nest.

    But my Singing-Bird still sings Without a cease； And each song it murmurs² brings My spirit peace.

    "Singing-Bird！" O "Singing-Bird！" No one knows, When your holy songs are heard, What repose³

    Fills my life and soothes⁴ my heart； But I fear The day —— thy songs, if we must part, I'll never hear.

    But "Singing-Bird！" ah！ "Singing-Bird！" Should this e'er be, The dreams of all thy songs I heard Shall sing for me.