A Boy’s Summer Song
’Tis fine to playIn the fragrant hay,And romp on the golden load;To ride old JackTo the barn and back,Or tramp by a shady road.To pause and drink,At a mossy brink;Ah, that is the best of joy,And so I sayOn a summer’s day,What’s so fine as being a boy?Ha, Ha!
With line and hookBy a babbling brook,The fisherman’s sport we ply;And list the songOf the feathered throngThat flit in the branches nigh.At last we stripFor a quiet dip;Ah, that is the best of joy.For this I sayOn a summer’s day,What’s so fine as being a boy?Ha, Ha!