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florence price - the poet and his song lyrics

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 easе;
i till my ground and prune my trees
when ripenеd 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

- florence price lyrics

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