Mary Howitt

Buttercups and Daisies— Oh, the pretty flowers, Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours.

Yes, in the poor man's garden grow Far more than herbs and flowers— Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And joy for weary hours.

The wild sea roars and lashes the granite cliffs below, And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow.

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly; "'T is the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy."

Old England is our home, and Englishmen are we; Our tongue is known in every clime, our flag in every sea.