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 hareThe little lark goes soaring high
Peeping from her green grass lair,
Let her come and sport and play
On the lawn at close of day.
To the bright windows of the sky,
Singing as if t'were always spring,
And fluttering on an untired wing -
Oh! Let him sing his happy song,
Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.