How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs the deep.
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.