Tis Saturday Morn And All Is Bright By Nature'S Own Endowing; The Sun Is Fiercely Giving Light, And Only Me-- Plowing. Across The River I Hear The Sound Of A Boatman Slowly Rowing; I Have No Time To Fool Around, Especially When I'm-- Hoeing. And When The Dinner Hour Has Come, And Thoughts Of Work Are Fleeting, I Only Hear The Insects Hum, Because I'm Busy-- Eating. At Night When All Things Are At Rest, Safe In Old Morpheus' Keeping, No Troubles Do My Mind Infest, For I Am Soundly-- Sleeping.