'Tis early morn and on the green
The children are at play;
The sunlight falls in sparkling sheen,
Their hearts are blithe and gay:
A shadow flits across the scene—
The hour has come that sadness brings,
The master rings, the master rings,
'Tis books!

'Tis late at eve, and o'er the green
The weary toilers pass;
The shadows fall, the sky's serene,
And dew is on the grass:
A light breaks in upon the scene—
The hour has come that gladness brings,
The Master rings, the Master rings,
'Tis books!