The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells
To welcome the spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder
To the bell's cheerful sound,
While our sports shall be
On the Echoing Green.
Old John with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say:"Such, such were the
When we all, girls and boys,
In our youth time were
On the Echoing Green."Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their
Many sisters and brother,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more
On the darkening Green.
