Oh! no, I would not pass away
When, from the leafy grove,
The red bird carols all the day
Its song of joy and love;
When merry warblers trill their notes
From every bush and tree,
And on the breeze, an anthem floats
Of heaven-born melody.
I would not die in Summer time,
And lie within the tomb,
When blushing fruits are in their prime,
And fields are in their bloom;
For I would reap the yellow grain
And bind it in the sheaves;
Then die when Autumn winds complain
Among the blighted leaves.