At the edge of the hedge is a Hawthorn Tree,
And its blossoms are sweet as sweet can be,
And the bees are humming there all the day, 
and these are the words that I hear them say: --
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree!

All the breezes that breathe o'er those blossoms rare
A burden of perfume happily bear;
And the songsters revel there all day long, 
And these are the words of their merry song: --
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree!

And a maid and her lover wander by
As the twilight glories fade and die;
And they pause 'neath the fragrant boughs to rest, 
And above them sways the robin's nest: --
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree!

We too, they whisper, shall soon build a home
'Neath the azure arch of the infinite dome; 
And we, all the day, shall sing like the birds,
But with deeper meaning in music and words: --
Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree!