When All Around From Out The Ground The Little Flowers Are Peeping, And From The Hills The Merry Rills With Vernal Songs Are Leaping, I Sing My Song The Whole Day Long In Woodland, Hedge, And Thicket-- And Sing It, Too, The Whole Night Through, For I 'M A Merry Cricket. The Children Hear My Chirrup Clear As, In The Woodland Straying, They Gather Flow'Rs Through Summer Hours-- And Then I Hear Them Saying: "Sing, Sing Away The Livelong Day, Glad Songster Of The Thicket-- With Your Shrill Mirth You Gladden Earth, You Merry Little Cricket!" When Summer Goes, And Christmas Snows Are From The North Returning, I Quit My Lair And Hasten Where The Old Yule-Log Is Burning. And Where At Night The Ruddy Light Of That Old Log Is Flinging A Genial Joy O'Er Girl And Boy, There I Resume My Singing. And, When They Hear My Chirrup Clear, The Children Stop Their Playing-- With Eager Feet They Haste To Greet My Welcome Music, Saying: "The Little Thing Has Come To Sing Of Woodland, Hedge, And Thicket-- Of Summer Day And Lambs At Play-- Oh, How We Love The Cricket!"