Full Lyrics
Hark! To Philomela singing,
Sweetly warbling in the vale;
Hark! the village bells are ringing,
Softly murm’ring on the gale.
By that stream, so gently flowing,
Stands our poor, though happy, shed;
Winds that ever kindly blowing,
O’er its unprotected head.
There in tranquil ease and pleasure,
Each revolving year we dwell;
Blest with every heartfelt treasure,
In our poor and humble cell.
