I count each day a little life,
 With birth and death complete;
I cloister it from care and strife
 And keep it sane and sweet.
 
With eager eyes I greet the morn,
 Exultant as a boy,
Knowing that I am newly born
 To wonder and to joy.
 
And when the sunset splendours wane
 And ripe for rest am I,
Knowing that I will live again,
 Exultantly I die.
 
O that all Life were but a Day
 Sunny and sweet and sane!
And that at Even I might say:
 "I sleep to wake again."