This text comes from A First Series of Hymns and Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Welcome, red and roundy sun,
Dropping lowly in the west,
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.
Though to leave your pretty song,
Little birds, it gives me pain,
Tet to-morrow is not long,
Then I'm with you all again.
If I stop and stand about,
Well I know how things will be;
They will all be looking out,
Watching anxiously for me.
Fare ye well and hold your tongues,
Sing no more till next I come;
They're not worthy of your songs
That never care to drop a crumb.
All day long I love the oaks;
But at night yon little cot,
Where I see the chimney smokes,
I know not a prettier spot.
All my little folks are there,
Waiting me with pleasant looks:
Table ready set and chair.
Supper hanging on the hooks.
Soon as ever I get in,
Quick my faggot down I fling;
Little prattlers then begin,
Teasing me to talk and sing.
Welcome, red and roundy sun.
Dropping lowly in the west,
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.