The sparrows would drive us away,
In the rose by the door cats would eat us, I'm sure;
Let us build in the apple-tree, pray,
Pray, pray,
Let us build in the apple-tree, pray."
So away high up in the old apple-tree
Mr. Wren built Brownie a nest,
And't is there she sits now, in the white-blossomed bough,
With the baby birds under her breast,
Breast, breast,