I love to think what joy I had,
When I was a boy, a playful lad;
I did not know the joy 'twas then,
I had not felt this world of sin.

No cares as now upon my mind,
So happy, playful, all the time;
Think of the many happy hours,
I roamed the woods in search of flowers.

And how I'd bound around at night,
To catch the bugs that flashed a light;
And mornings when the sun would rise,
I'd start to chase the butterflies.

It seems I'm creeping to a flower,
A butterfly has let to sip;
It seems I almost have him now,
But from my fingers he doth slip.

Away he seeks another flower,
I stand and gaze to see him light;
I seem to creep again to catch,
He sees me though and takes a flight.

And as I chase, from flower to flower,
So many others meet my eye;
And some that do not seem so shy,
To catch the others I will try.

It seems I see one on a flower,
His head deep in the blossom fold;
And now it seems I have him fast,
And by his silky wings I hold.