How doth the little busy Bee
Improve each shining Hour
And gather Honey all the day
From every opening Flower!

How skilfully she builds her Cell!
How neat she spreads the Wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet Food she makes

In Works of Labour 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