Blackbird, searching the lawn for worms,
Your brood for to feed.
You work so hard from dawn ’till dusk
To satisfy their need.
Your glossy feathers shine so black,
Your beak is made of gold.
The brightness of your eye so clear,
Is a wonder to behold.
But over all, what we all love,
Your song so pure and clear.
The notes that tumble from your throat
Bring joy to all who hear.
They rise above, towards the sky,
And angels when they hear
Know that they have met their match
In your notes so pure and clear.
Art thou a bird or spirit free
Whose throat such notes give out?
No living creature surely makes
Such wondrous sounds, I doubt.
So are you sent from heaven above
That we on Earth might know
Something of that wondrous place
Where we’re destined to go?
So, bird, keep singing out your song
At dawn, at noon and dusk
And make us feel that all that’s wrong
Will turn to all that’s just.