A Song from the Suds

A Song from the SudsQueen of my tub, I merrily sing,While the white foam raises high,And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,And fasten the clothes to dry;Then out in the free fresh air they swing,Under the sunny sky.I wish we could wash from our hearts and our soulsThe stains of the week away,And let water and air by their magic makeOurselves as pure as they;Then on the earth there would be