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