Oh come to the woodland where joys reign supreme,
Where the zephyr’s soft kiss lightly touches the brow,
And the sun gently drops thro’ the leaves in a dream
And sleeps in the shade of the wide-spreading bough.
Let the world plod along with its stern, solemn face,
With its brow deeply wrinkled with thought and with care;
Let the pleasures of life to-day’s business replace
While we list to the charm of its wild, joyous air.
The murm’ring of brooks, the singing of birds,
The whisper of winds and the leaves soft reply,