Sing Me A Song, O, Wind.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of musical cadence sweet,         Which in the wood around             Shall often and oft repeat;         Soft as an angel's song             That never can give annoy,         Which in the balmy notes             Shall tell me its tales of joy.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of countries beyond the sea,         Which in thy wand'rings oft             Thou pass with a footstep free;         Lands that are ever green             'Neath blaze of the tropic spells,         Bright with their blessed suns,             Where summer forever dwells.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of groves with a verdure fair,         Waving their boughs of green             O'er solitudes grand and rare;         Groves with a stillness sweet,             With cheering and cooling shades,         Where from its cares the race             May rest in the leafy glades.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of birds with a plumage gay,         That with their carols sweet             Give praise to the God of day;         Music of sad refrain,             Though fond in its tender chime,         Thou in thy travels wide             Hast heard in a fairy clime.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of crystalline brooks at play,         Which with the murmurs low             Make sweetest of sounds all day;         Winding through meadows wide,             And blossoming fields between,         Fringed with the willows tall             On emerald banks of green.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of flowers that are fond and fair,         Filling the fields of earth             With beauty and fragrance rare;         Wafting an incense pure             On every breeze that blows,         Drawn from the lily's heart             And soul of the royal rose.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             Of man in his brightest homes;         Tell if he there meet joy,             Wherever his longing roams;         Tell if there's e'er a place             Where, all his ambition spent,         He toils throughout all his days             And knoweth no discontent.         Sing me a song, O, Wind,             For I am a-weary now;         Life, with its woes and cares,             Hangs heavily on my brow;         Sing me a song of cheer,             My heart that is sad to ease;         Sing in thy brightness and joy             With heavenly harmonies!