How doth the little busy Bee
Improve each shinning Hour,
And gather Honey all the day
From ev'ry op'ning flove'r !
How skilfully she builds her Cell !
How neat she spreads the Wax !
and labors hard to store it well
With the sweet Food she makes.
In Works of Labor or of Skill
I would be busy too:
For Satan finds some Mischief still
For idle Hands to do.
In Books, or Work, or healthful Play,
Let my first Years be past,
That I may give for every Day
Some good Account at last.
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