The world's a very happy place,
Where every child may dance and sing,
and always have a siniling face,
and never sulk for anything.
I waken when the morning's come,
And feel the air and light alive
with strange sweet music like the hum
Of bees about their busy hive.
The linnets play among the leaves
At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing;
While, flashing to and from the eaves,
The swallows twitter on the wing.
And twigs that shake, and boughs that sway,
And tall old trees you cannot climb,
And winds that come, but cannot stay,
Are singing gayly all the time.
From dawn to dark the old millwheel
Makes music, going round and round;
And, dusty white with flour and meal,
The miller whistles to its sound.
The brook that flows beside the mill,
As happy as a brook can be,
Goes singing its old song until
It learns the singing of the sea.
For every wave upon the sands
Sings songs you never tire to hear,
Of laden ships from sunny lands
Where it is summer all the year.
And if you listen to the rain
Where leaves and birds and bees are dumb,
You hear it pattering on the pane
Like Andrew beating on his drum.
The coals beneath the kettle croon,
And clap their hands and dance in glee;
And even the kettle hums a tune
To tell you when it's time for tea.
The world is such a happy place
That children, whether big or small,
May always have a smiling face
And never, never sulk at all.