Little children, never give
Pain to things that feel and live:
Let the gentle robin come
For the crumbs you save at home,-
As his meat you throw along
He'll repay you with a song;
Never hurt the timid hare
Peeping from her green grass lair,
Let her come and sport and play
On the lawn at close of day;
The little lark goes soaring high
To the bright windows of the sky,
Singing as if 'twere always spring,
And fluttering on an untired wing,-
Oh! let him sing his happy song,
Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.