The lark in the morn

As I was out a walking one morning in the spring
I heard a fair young damsel, so sweetly did she sing
And as we were a walking, these words she did say,
"There's no life like a ploughboy's, all in the mounth
of May"

The lark in, the morn she will rise up from her next
and mount in the air with the dew all on her breast.

And like the pretty ploughboy she will whisle and
sing,
and at night she'll return to her own nest again.

This is like,
This is your life and it's beautiful!