’Twas a blue­bird told the sto­ry,
On his way from Heav’n this morn,
As he paused be­neath my win­dow,
’Mong the blos­soms of the thorn:
Hark! to you I bear the sto­ry,
Weary ones who wake with pain,
Christ in­deed, in­deed is ris­en,
Doubting ones, He lives again!

It was star­light soft and ten­der,
Yet the east was flushed with rose,
And the wea­ry world was wak­ing
From the calm of its re­pose.
I could hear that won­drous mes­sage
Whispered soft­ly o’er the plain,
Till the li­ly bells were chim­ing,
Christ is ris’n! He lives again!

’Twas a blue­bird told the sto­ry,
On his way from Heav’n this morn,
As he paused be­neath my win­dow,
’Mong the blos­soms of the thorn.
Oh, that mes­sage, sweet and ho­ly!
Tirèd souls, for­get your pain;
Christ in­deed for you is ris­en,
Doubting hearts, He lives again!