Merry it is on a summer's day,
All through the meadows to wend away;
To watch the brooks glide fast or slow,
And the little fish twinkle down below;
To hear the lark in the blue sky sing,
Oh, sure enough, 'tis a merry thing —
But 'tis merrier far to swing — to swing!

Merry it is on a winter's night,
To listen to tales of elf and sprite,
Of caves and castles so dim and old, —
The dismallest tales that ever were told; —
And then to laugh, and then to sing,
You may take my word is a merry thing, —
But 'tis merrier far to swing — to swing!

Down with the hoop upon the green,
Down with the ringing tamborine; —
Little heed we for this or for that;
Off with the bonnet, off with the hat
Away we go like birds on the wing!
Higher yet! higher yet! " Now for the King! "
This is the way we swing — we swing!

Scarcely the bough bends, Claude is so light,
Mount up behind him — there, that is right!
Down bends the branch now; — swing him away
Higher yet — higher yet — higher I say!
Oh, what a joy it is! Now let us sing
" A pear for the Queen — an apple for the King! "
And shake the old tree as we swing — we swing