It's grand to get up in the morning
And shoulder your old haversack,
While the dew is still wet on the grasses
And blackbirds play tag on the track.

And whether you're bound for the mountains,
Or woodlands that whisper a song,
The best of the day is the hour
That sets the day rolling along.

The world is a place of enchantment,
As the sun climbs the rim of the dale,
And a tiny breeze flutters the hedges
And the first butterfly is a-sail.

Warming your back's the sweet blessing
Of sunshine: you feel the blood course,
And you pick up your feet a bit faster
And you see where the brook has its source...

High where the mist on the hillside
Is swift giving place to the blue,
A silver-jewelled thread through the bracken
is taunting and luring us two.

But friend, still the long day is ours,
We're masters of time and we wait,
While slowly, released from the byre,
The cows pass with gesture sedate.

And sudden - one thought is between us;
Hot coffee and rolls are the thing!
And we lie at our ease in the sunshine,
And we wouldn't swap thrones with a king!

At length the old map is unfolded,
The way and the miles are compared,
And we're proud as a Drake or Nansen
Because of the distance we've fared.

Far above we can hear the bees humming,
Their labours redouble the zest
We know when the town is behind us,
And we're walking the world at its best.

David Hope