Come, dear little playmates, and sing a song with me;
We'll sing of the fishes in the brook, and birdies in the tree;
And of the busy bee, that flies among the buds and flowers;
Of the sun, whose brilliant rays illume this busy world of ours.
The moon and twinkling stars, the rainbow in the sky,
The pattering rain, that fills the brook, as it runs so swiftly by.
Let us thank the carpenter, for the bridge he has built so stout and strong,
With his zish, zish, zish, and his rap, rap, rap, he toils the whole day long.
We will sing of the target, made with care, and a basket let us weave;
We'll farmers be, and sow our seeds, from morning until eve;
Then to the miller's we will go, and see what change will come;
When flour is made of the golden grain, the miller's work is done.
The cooper, his barrels has been making, the baker then will come,
And kneading the flour, the bread he'll bake, for each and every one;
The blacksmith, who stands at his anvil, with his strong arms free and bare,
No coal could burn in the forge, were it not for the charcoal burner's care.
The wheelwright, with the spokes and hub, and iron tire and rim,
The wheel can make; without his work, what task could we begin?
The scissor-grinder at the wheel, the cobbler at the shoe,
Each, in turn, the other helps, and all are helping you.
Hark! in the distant belfry, the musical chimes resound;
The sexton, too, has his work to do, and is happy the whole year round;
Though varied the tasks of the toilers, all hearts are one in prayer,
Then praises sing, to our God and King, for his gentle, loving care.
| 
