O what a joyous joyous day
Is that on which we come
At the recess from school away,
Each lad to his own home!
What though the coach is crammëd full,
The weather very warm;
Think you a boy of us is dull,
Or feels the slightest harm?
The dust and sun is life and fun;
The hot and sultry weather
A higher zest gives every breast,
Thus jumbled all together.
Sometimes we laugh aloud, aloud,
Sometimes huzzah, huzzah.
Who is so buoyant, free, and proud
As we home travellers are?
But sad, but sad is every lad
That day on which we come,
That last last day on which away
We all come from our home.
The coach too full is found to be;
Why is it crammëd thus?
Now every one can plainly see
There's not half room for us.
Soon we exclaim, O shame, O shame,
This hot and sultry weather,
Who but our master is to blame
Who packed us thus together!
Now dust and sun does every one
Most terribly annoy;
Complaints begun, soon every one
Elbows his neighbour boy.
Not now the joyous laugh goes round,
We shout not now huzzah;
A sadder group may not be found
Than we returning are.
