Now green comes springing o'er the heath,
And each small bird with lifted breath 
Cries, "Brother, consider the joy there is in living!"
"Consider, consider!" The jolly throstle saith!
The golden gorse, the wild thyme frail 
And sweet, the butter cowslip pale,
Cry "Sisters, consider the peace that comes with giving,
And render, and render your sweet and scented breath!"
Now men, come walking o'er the heath
To mark this pretty world beneath,
Bethink them: "Consider the joy might lie in living,
None striving, constraining none, and thinking not on Death!"