LARK'S song dropped from heaven,
A rose's breath at noon;
A still, sweet stream that flows and flows
Beneath a still, sweet moon:

A little way - side flower
Plucked from the grasses, thus!
A sound, a breath, a glance—and yet
What is't they bring to us?

For the world grows far too wise,
And wisdom is but grief:
Much thought makes but a weary way,
And question, unbelief.

Thank God for the bird's song,
And for the flower's breath!
Thank God for any voice to wake
The old sweet hymn of faith!

For a world grown all too wise,
(Or is't not wise enough)?
Thank God for anything that makes
The path less dark and rough!