<h3><SPAN name="3">THE ECHOING GREEN</SPAN></h3>
The sun does arise,<br/>
And make happy the skies;<br/>
The merry bells ring<br/>
To welcome the Spring;<br/>
The skylark and thrush,<br/>
The birds of the bush,<br/>
Sing louder around<br/>
To the bells’ cheerful sound;<br/>
While our sports shall be seen<br/>
On the echoing green.
<br/><br/>Old John, with white hair,<br/>
Does laugh away care,<br/>
Sitting under the oak,<br/>
Among the old folk.<br/>
They laugh at our play,<br/>
And soon they all say,<br/>
‘Such, such were the joys<br/>
When we all—girls and boys—<br/>
In our youth-time were seen<br/>
On the echoing green.’
<br/><br/>Till the little ones, weary,<br/>
No more can be merry:<br/>
The sun does descend,<br/>
And our sports have an end.<br/>
Round the laps of their mothers<br/>
Many sisters and brothers,<br/>
Like birds in their nest,<br/>
Are ready for rest,<br/>
And sport no more seen<br/>
On the darkening green.
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