Come walk a mile with me--'Tis June,--fair June-day,
And Nature smiles--her magic hands are still,
For not a ripple stirs yon lake at noon-day,
And not a breeze disturbs this woody hill;
But hark!--what idle dreamer there is drumming?
It is--it is a pheasant calling--"Come!"
And listen!--like a low voice sweetly humming
Is heard the brook within its forest home.
But wait!--We cannot wait--'Twill soon be Summer,
So let us now enjoy these days of June,
For hear ye not that late, but welcome comer,
Robert-of-Lincoln carroling his tune;
And see ye not yon oriole high swinging
His basket from that tall and leafy tree--
O Comrade, Comrade!--Time is swiftly winging,--
'Twill not be always June with you and me;
Spring-time is passing--Summer is a-coming,
And soon fair Autumn with her idle dreams,
And then cold Winter, her White hands benumbing
The icy lakes and silent, woodland streams!
O Comrade!--Comrade!--let us not be weary,
But pick life's pretty blossoms while they bloom,
Forgetting every prospect, sad or dreary,
Avoiding every lane that leads to gloom!
For see!--each flower lifts a golden chalice
Inviting us to drink--Shall we pass by,
With faces sad, nor enter this fair palace
That June has rear'd us 'neath a cloudless sky?