The bees hum round their hive,
The butterflies are coming out,—
'Tis good to be alive.
"The trees, that looked so stiff and gray,
With green wreaths now are hung;
O mother! let me laugh and play,
I cannot hold my tongue.
"See yonder bird spread out his wings,
And mount the clear blue skies;
And hark! how merrily he sings,