How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower.
How skilfully she builds her cell;
How neat she spreads the wax;
And labours hard to store it well;
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play
Let my first years be passed;
That I may give you every day
Some good account at last.