How often when a little chap

On Haydn's shoulders fell the strap.

E'er he was six as if a man

His struggles with the world began.

His parents could not write nor read.

A cousin said, "I'll gladly feed

And clothe young Joseph, who can sing

And to my pockets money bring."

But little food he gave to him

And plenty of the sharp peach limb.

When Joe then lost his tuneful voice

His cousin gave to him no choice

But turned him out to earn his way—

'Tis said he worked both night and day,

And, working thus, young Haydn rose

Rich he became and gained great fame

While all musicians love his name.

His greatest work was The Creation

And artists of most every nation

Ever bow down at his knee

As "Father of the SYMPHONY."