Morning

Awake, little girl, it is time to arise,
Come shake drowsy sleep from your eye;
The lark is now warbling his notes to the skies,
And the sun is far mounted on high.

O come, for the fields with gay flowers abound,
The dewdrop is quivering still,
The lowing herds graze in the pastures around,
And the sheep-bell is heard from the hill.

O come, for the bee has flown out of his bed,
Impatient his work to renew;
The spider is weaving her delicate thread,
Which brilliantly glitters with dew.

O come, for the ant has crept out of her cell,
And forth to her labour she goes;
She knows the true value of moments too well,
To waste them in idle repose.

Awake, little sleeper, and do not despise
Of insects instruction to ask;
From your pillow with good resolutions arise,
And cheerfully go to your task

Jane