... 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
    And while the young lambs bound 
        As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
        And I again am strong.
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; --
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong:
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
        And all the earth is gay;
            Land and sea 
    Give themselves up to jollity,
        And with the heart of May
    Doth every beast keep holiday; -- 
            Thou child of joy,
Shout round me; let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd boy!