Page:Jim of the Hills.djvu/37

 But where's the call to think of strife with such good things about? The gum-leaves are a-twinkle as the sun comes peepin' out. The blue-cap's in an' out the fern, red robin's on the gate, An' who could hear the song of them and hold a thought of hate? Oh, it's Mornin'! Mornin'! No time for thinkin' wrong. An' I'd be scared to strike a man, I feel so awful strong.

Grey thrush is in the wattle, an' it's, "O, you pretty dear!" He's callin' to his little wife, an' don't care who should hear In the great bush, the fresh bush, washed again with dew. An' my axe is on my shoulder, an' there's work ahead to do. Oh, it's Mornin'! Singin' Mornin'! in the land I count the best. An' with the heart an' mind of me I'm singin' with the rest.