I LTTLE friend among the tree-tops,
         Chanting low your vesper hymns,
             Never tiring,
             Me inspiring,
         Seated 'neath the swaying limbs,
    Do you know your plaintive calling,
    When the summer dew is falling,
    Echoes sweeter through my brain
    Than any soft, harmonic strain

    Others call you an intruder,
      Say discordant notes you know;
             Or that sadness,
             More than gladness,
      From your little heart doth flow;
    And that you awake from sleeping
    Thoughts in quiet they were keeping,
    Faithless love, or ill-laid schemes,
    Hopes unanchored-broken dreams.

    No such phantoms to my vision
      Doth your lullaby impart,
             But sweet faces,
             No tear traces,
      Smile as joyous in my heart,
    As when first at mother's knee
    Learned I your sweet mystery.
    I defend you with my praises,
    For your song my soul upraises.