Time to rise.

The cock, who soundly sleeps at night,

Rises with the morning light,

Very loud and shrill he crows;

Then the sleeping ploughman knows

He must leave his bed also,

To his morning work to go.

And the little lark does fly

To the middle of the sky:

You may hear his merry tune,

In the morning very soon;

For he does not like to rest

Idle in his downy nest.

While the cock is crowing shrill,

Leave my little bed I will,

And I’ll rise to hear the lark,

For it is no longer dark:

’Twould be a pity there to stay,

When ’tis bright and pleasant day.