SING, I pray, a little song, 
 Mother dear! 
Neither sad nor very long: 
It is for a little maid, 
Golden-tressed Adelaide! 
Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear, 
 Mother dear! 
 
Let it be a merry strain, 
 Mother dear! 
Shunning e?en the thought of pain:
For our gentle child will weep, 
If the theme be dark and deep; 
And we will not draw a single, single tear, 
 Mother dear! 
 
Childhood should be all divine,
 Mother dear! 
And like an endless summer shine; 
Gay as Edward?s shouts and cries, 
Bright as Agnes? azure eyes: 
Therefore, bid thy song be merry:?dost thou hear,
 Mother dear?