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 Quick and general as the breeze, Joy enspirits us, brisk Content Thrills the air, like clover-scent With a mountain crispness blent, And Love, the faithful lark, can fly And sing, now, in a cloudless sky.

I wonder, has Life more to give! O liberal and delicious days, When all my duty is, to live, Love, and be happy, and give praise! Happy? why, in such employ, Every breath’s an added joy, Every pulsing of the blood Hearty is, and must do good! Still we work—of course we do, We’re alive! but work is pleasure, Done by choice, and done at leisure; And the work that, day by day, Now, I lightly waken to, Always fresh and full of zest— Helping, forwarding along On its right and proper way, Everything I love the best— Why, it’s better far than play! —First the creatures, and the plants, Pretty souls! to be supplied With the little natural wants It’s so natural to provide; Then—O God! the dearer farm, The far richer garden-ground, Tasking with delicious toil:— Priceless bodies to keep sound,