How doth the little busy bee
    Improve each shining hour, 
And gather honey all the day
    From every opening flower!

How skillfully 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 passed, 
That I may give for every day
    Some good account at last.