The birds awake with a toot and a tweet,

And sing a song to the morning
An anthem rare, an anthem sweet,

Is the list'ning air adorning.
The calf is bunting his sleeping dam,

With his bright head, soft and curly,
He 's hungry, so he wakes his mam

All in the tnorning early.

The ducks are waddling towards the pond :

The geese are there already ;
The lambs, they frisk in the near beyond,

While their mammas pasture sturdy.

The pig, he 's squealing inside his sty,

And he grunts with a grunt that 's surly

He 's hungry, too, and there 's fire in his eye,
All in the morning early.

The colt, he races across the grass,

And the old mare follows stumbling ;
The wren is watching a straddle-bug pass,

And the bumble-bee 's a-bumbling.
Out in the swampy place, forlorn,

You hear the hurly-burly :
The frogs are hungry, as sure's you're born,

All in the morning early.

The farmer wakes with a sudden shock :

A glance at the east he shoots ;
Another glance he gives to the clock,

And then pulls on his boots.
All hands wake up ! roll out ! hullo ! '

He roars with a voice that 's burly ;
The maids and men all rattle below,

All in the morning early.