There in the summer woodland,Down in the quiet glade,Hid in a leafy thicket,Is a little fawn in the shade.And the wildwood moss is growingAbout its dry leaf bed;And the vine of the forest swayingIts blossoms overhead.The mother roe comes oftenTo nurse her baby deer;And she listens, listens, listens,Lest some bold foot come near.There she dreams with her baby,Till birds of the early dawnWake the mother from slumberTo nurse her dear little fawn.Who made the glad mother,Who made the wee fawn?Who made the bright birdiesTo sing at the dawn?The same Who made baby,The same Who made me;Who calls us and calls usHis loved ones to be.
There in the summer woodland,Down in the quiet glade,Hid in a leafy thicket,Is a little fawn in the shade.And the wildwood moss is growingAbout its dry leaf bed;And the vine of the forest swayingIts blossoms overhead.The mother roe comes oftenTo nurse her baby deer;And she listens, listens, listens,Lest some bold foot come near.There she dreams with her baby,Till birds of the early dawnWake the mother from slumberTo nurse her dear little fawn.Who made the glad mother,Who made the wee fawn?Who made the bright birdiesTo sing at the dawn?The same Who made baby,The same Who made me;Who calls us and calls usHis loved ones to be.
There in the summer woodland,Down in the quiet glade,Hid in a leafy thicket,Is a little fawn in the shade.
There in the summer woodland,
Down in the quiet glade,
Hid in a leafy thicket,
Is a little fawn in the shade.
And the wildwood moss is growingAbout its dry leaf bed;And the vine of the forest swayingIts blossoms overhead.
And the wildwood moss is growing
About its dry leaf bed;
And the vine of the forest swaying
Its blossoms overhead.
The mother roe comes oftenTo nurse her baby deer;And she listens, listens, listens,Lest some bold foot come near.
The mother roe comes often
To nurse her baby deer;
And she listens, listens, listens,
Lest some bold foot come near.
There she dreams with her baby,Till birds of the early dawnWake the mother from slumberTo nurse her dear little fawn.
There she dreams with her baby,
Till birds of the early dawn
Wake the mother from slumber
To nurse her dear little fawn.
Who made the glad mother,Who made the wee fawn?Who made the bright birdiesTo sing at the dawn?
Who made the glad mother,
Who made the wee fawn?
Who made the bright birdies
To sing at the dawn?
The same Who made baby,The same Who made me;Who calls us and calls usHis loved ones to be.
The same Who made baby,
The same Who made me;
Who calls us and calls us
His loved ones to be.
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