 | The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : |  |
JUST WHISTLE A BIT
Just whistle a bit, if the day be dark,
And the sky be overcast:
If mute be the voice of the piping lark,
Why, pipe your own small blast.
And the sky be overcast:
If mute be the voice of the piping lark,
Why, pipe your own small blast.
And it 's wonderful how o'er the gray sky-track
The truant warbler comes stealing back.
But why need he come? for your soul 's at rest,
And the song in the heart,—ah, that is best.
The truant warbler comes stealing back.
But why need he come? for your soul 's at rest,
And the song in the heart,—ah, that is best.
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Just whistle a bit, if the night be drear
And the stars refuse to shine:
And a gleam that mocks the starlight clear
Within you glows benign.
And the stars refuse to shine:
And a gleam that mocks the starlight clear
Within you glows benign.
Till the dearth of light in the glooming skies
Is lost to the sight of your soul-lit eyes.
What matters the absence of moon or star?
The light within is the best by far.
Is lost to the sight of your soul-lit eyes.
What matters the absence of moon or star?
The light within is the best by far.
Just whistle a bit, if there 's work to do,
With the mind or in the soil.
And your note will turn out a talisman true
To exorcise grim Toil.
With the mind or in the soil.
And your note will turn out a talisman true
To exorcise grim Toil.
It will lighten your burden and make you feel
That there 's nothing like work as a sauce for a meal.
And with song in your heart and the meal in—its place,
There 'll be joy in your bosom and light in your face.
That there 's nothing like work as a sauce for a meal.
And with song in your heart and the meal in—its place,
There 'll be joy in your bosom and light in your face.
Just whistle a bit, if your heart be sore;
'Tis a wonderful balm for pain.
Just pipe some old melody o'er and o'er
Till it soothes like summer rain.
'Tis a wonderful balm for pain.
Just pipe some old melody o'er and o'er
Till it soothes like summer rain.
And perhaps 't would be best in a later day,
When Death comes stalking down the way,
To knock at your bosom and see if you 're fit,
Then, as you wait calmly, just whistle a bit.
When Death comes stalking down the way,
To knock at your bosom and see if you 're fit,
Then, as you wait calmly, just whistle a bit.
| The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar : | |