Briskly walking to and fro,
Grandma, singing, spins and spins,—
Years ago ’twas always so.
O’er a cave in time of Bruce,
Now in attic corners high;
What is it that spins and spins?
Ah, be wary, little fly!
Out along the country road,
Over hills and through the vale,
Brother Johnny spins and spins,