Singing all the summer long Matin hymn and evensong, Fluting freely thro’ the noonday’s drowsy hush; Pouring from my leafy bow’r Benedictions every hour, I am the friend of all the world. Grey Thrush. Mine no monotonic lay Harping all the livelong day On a single melody, however sweet; But, with many a turn and twist, I, the bushland’s soloist, Offer all my varied repertoire complete. Happiest songster of them all, Who can hear my joyous call Yet find no echoing gladness in his heart? Madrigal and lullaby, Chant and canticle sing I; Every mood I melodize with careless art. Singing all the summer long Matin hymn, and vesper song, Fluting freely thro’ the noonday’s drowsy hush; In my drab habiliment Peace I sing, and glad content, I’m the bushland’s master melodist, Grey Thrush.