THE ECHOING GREENThe sun does arise,And make happy the skies;The merry bells ringTo welcome the Spring;The skylark and thrush,The birds of the bush,Sing louder aroundTo the bells’ cheerful sound;While our sports shall be seenOn the echoing green.Old John, with white hair,Does laugh away care,Sitting under the oak,Among the old folk.They laugh at our play,And soon they all say,‘Such, such were the joysWhen we all—girls and boys—In our youth-time were seenOn the echoing green.’Till the little ones, weary,No more can be merry:The sun does descend,And our sports have an end.Round the laps of their mothersMany sisters and brothers,Like birds in their nest,Are ready for rest,And sport no more seenOn the darkening green.Illustration:Illustration:
The sun does arise,And make happy the skies;The merry bells ringTo welcome the Spring;The skylark and thrush,The birds of the bush,Sing louder aroundTo the bells’ cheerful sound;While our sports shall be seenOn the echoing green.
Old John, with white hair,Does laugh away care,Sitting under the oak,Among the old folk.They laugh at our play,And soon they all say,‘Such, such were the joysWhen we all—girls and boys—In our youth-time were seenOn the echoing green.’
Till the little ones, weary,No more can be merry:The sun does descend,And our sports have an end.Round the laps of their mothersMany sisters and brothers,Like birds in their nest,Are ready for rest,And sport no more seenOn the darkening green.
Illustration:
Illustration: