Why Dost Thou Want To Sing When Thou Hast No Song, My Heart? If There Be In Thee A Hidden Spring, Wherefore Will No Word Start? On Its Way Thou Hearest No Song, Yet Flutters Thy Unborn Joy! The Years Of Thy Life Are Growing Long-- Art Still The Heart Of A Boy?-- Father, I Am Thy Child! My Heart Is In Thy Hand! Let It Hear Some Echo, With Gladness Wild, Of A Song In Thy High Land. It Will Answer--But How, My God, Thou Knowest; I Cannot Say: It Will Spring, I Know, Thy Lark, From Thy Sod-- Thy Lark To Meet Thy Day!