I wake to the thrush revealing
His joy on a dewy morn,
And soft through my window stealing,
The scent of the flowering thorn.
I haste to share in the splendour
Of water and flower and tree,
And up from my heart I render,
My praise, oh my God to Thee.

And little children straying
O'er paths where their elders trod,
Their wondering eyes surveying
The wonderful works of God.
For the innocent hearts of childhood,
Find God in each flower and tree,
And I pray while I tread life's journey
With the eyes of a child to see.

Where beauty has birth and being -
Men call it Stephen's Green,
And pass on their way unseeing
What the eyes of a child has seen.
Their blindness but moves our pity,
And now you will understand
How here in the heart of a city,
I was born in Fairyland!