Time To Get Up
There’s nothing to do in the morning but stew,
Till it’s time to get up and dress;
Till my nurse comes in to button and pin,
And dress me more or less:
Then it’s time to get up, get up, you see,
And I am as happy as happy can be.
II.
For there is my drum a-calling me’Come!’
My clown a-shouting’Hooray!’
My dishes and table and little toy-stable
Just clattering’Come and play!’
And my little wood-soldiers, with foot to foot,
Seem ready to fire a toy-salute.
III.
And my spade and rake just seem to ache
For me to handle and use;
And the pile of sand it seems to expand
With joy when it feels my shoes.
But the gladdest of all, the maddest of all,
That leaps to my hand, is my little red ball.
IV.
I bound and run and every one
Is happy almost as I;
With my whistle and whip I hop and skip,
And make my rocking-horse fly.
I take my horn and I make it say,
‘Good morning to all! It’s a very fine day!’
V.
There’s nothing to do in the morning but stew
Until it is time to rise;
Till my nurse comes in to button and pin,
A-rubbing the sleep from her eyes:
Then it’s time to get up, and hurry, you see,
Where all of my toys are waiting for me.
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