23
Early Rising.
Are my flowers awake,
That so sweet were sleeping?
See, they lift their heads,
Dewy tear-drops weeping.
Has the bee come forth?
At her work she's singing,
To her busy hive
Honied treasures bringing.
Is the linnet up?
Hark! his song he raises;
Let me join him too,
With my morning praises.
The Garden.
Come, dear little friend,
To the garden we'll go,
