THE MERRY LARK.

Hark, hark,
The merry lark,
Beginning her morning song;
Robin redbreast
Is still in her nest
And silent is her tongue.

No, no,
It will not do,
Though Robin may lie in bed;
"Early and bright
"As soon as 'tis light"
My mother to me has said—

See, see
The busy bee
A going from flower to flower,
Carries a sting,
While under her wing
She holds her honied store.

So, so—
While busy too,
In study or useful work;
In many a sweet
Which we may meet
Some poison'd sting may lurk.