Where the brook goes lapping by

And the goldenrod blooms and the tall

Tree grows

And the lonely hoot owls cry.

I must down to the sunny nooks

Of my enchanted land,

Where I whisper my love to the trees

And they seem to understand.

I’m in love with the whole round earth,

And my heart is light and free.

My sorrows seem to take wings

When the bobwhite calls to me.

Oh, the birds are my friends, the flowers,

The trees.

And so is each little nook

I pity the one who has never heard

And answered the call of the brook.

So, if it by Thy will, dear God,

May I riches or luxuries never see,

But deprive me not of my forest friends.