I love to rise in a summer morn

when the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the skylark sings with me;

O what sweet company!

 

But to go to school in a summer morn,

O it drives all joy away!

Under a cruel eye outworn,

The little ones spend the day

In sighing and dismay.

 

Ah then at times I drooping sit,

And spend many an anxious hour;

Nor in my book can I take delight,

Nor sit in learnings bower,

Worn through with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?

How can a child when fears annoy

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthfull spring?

 

O father and mother, if buds are nipped,

And blossoms blown away;

And if the tender plants are stripped

Of their joy in the sprining day,

By sorrow and care's dismay,

 

How shall the summer arise in joy,

Or the summer fruits appear?

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,

Or bless the mellowing year,

When the blasts of winter appear