In Summer

Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun
And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue
And a belt where the rivers run

And now
For the kiss of the wind
And the touch of the air's soft hands
With the rest from strife and the heat of life
With the freedom
Of lakes
And lands
I envy the farmer's boy
Who sings as he follows the plow

While the shining green
Of the young blades lean
To the breezes that cool his brow
He sings to the dewy morn
No thought of another's ear

But the song he sings is a chant for kings

And the whole wide world to hear

He sings of the joys of life
Of the pleasures of work and rest

From an o'erfull heart, without aim or art
'T is a song of the merriest

O ye who toil in the town
And ye who moil in the mart
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong

Shall renew your joy of heart

Oh, poor were the worth of the world
If never a song were heard
If the sting of grief had no relief
And never a heart were stirred

So, long as the streams run down
And as long as the robins trill
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air
And sing in the face of ill