The claims of toil some moments yield,
For morning’s bliss and time is fleeter
Than thought; so out! ’tis dawning yet;
Why twilight’s lovely hour forget?
For sweet though be the workman’s sweat,
The wanderer’s sweat is sweeter.
Up! to the fields! through shine and stour!
What hath the dull and drowsy hour
So blest as this—the glad heart leaping,
To hear morn’s early song sublime?