Lyrics of Lowly Life/The Poet and his Song
For other versions of this work, see The Poet and His Song (Dunbar).
THE POET AND HIS SONG.
A SONG is but a little thing, And yet what joy it is to sing! In hours of toil it gives me zest, And when at eve I long for rest; When cows come home along the bars, And in the fold I hear the bell, As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars, I sing my song, and all is well.
There are no ears to hear my lays, No lips to lift a word of praise; But still, with faith unfaltering, I live and laugh and love and sing. What matters yon unheeding throng? They cannot feel my spirit's spell, Since life is sweet and love is long, I sing my song, and all is well.
My days are never days of ease; I till my ground and prune my trees. When ripened gold is all the plain, I put my sickle to the grain.I labor hard, and toil and sweat, While others dream within the dell; But even while my brow is wet, I sing my song, and all is well.
Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, My garden makes a desert spot; Sometimes a blight upon the tree Takes all my fruit away from me; And then with throes of bitter pain Rebellious passions rise and swell; But — life is more than fruit or grain, And so I sing, and all is well.