- I like to rise when the sun she rises
Early in the morning,
I like to hear them small birds singing
Merrily upon the laylum.
And hurrah for the life of a country boy
And to ramble in the new-mown hay.
In spring we sow, at the harvest mow,
And that is how the seasons round they go.
But if all the times if choose I may
‘t would be rambling through the new-mown hay.
In winter when the sky is grey
We hedge and ditch our times away;
But in the summer when the sun shines gay
We go rambling through the new-mown hay.