Joy to him who fairy treasures
With a fairy's eye can see;
Woe to him who counts and measures
What the worth in coin may be.
Gems from wither'd leaves we fashion
For the spirit pure from stain;
Grasp them with a sordid passion
And they turn to leaves again.
CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES.
Here and there, and everywhere,
Tramp and cramp him inch by inch;
Fair is fair,—to each his share
You shall preach, and we will pinch.
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.
Fairy treasures are not rated
By their value in the mart;
In thy bosom, Earth, created
For the coffers of the heart.
Dost thou covet fairy money?
Rifle but the blossom bells—
Like the wild bee, shape the honey
Into golden cloister-cells.
CHORUS OF PINCHING FAIRIES.
Spirit hear it, flesh revere it!
Stamp the lesson inch by inch!
Rightly merit, flesh and spirit,
This the preaching, that the pinch!
CHORUS OF PREACHING FAIRIES.