 | Moral songs |  |
THE CHILD TO THE FLY.
Poor little fly, you need not fear,
Nor buzz so fast along the pane;
Sport on—I'm only standing here
To watch without the falling rain.
Nor buzz so fast along the pane;
Sport on—I'm only standing here
To watch without the falling rain.
49
'Twould be a very cruel thing
To lay my heavy hand on you,
To break, perhaps, your silver wing,
Or crush your body round and blue.
To lay my heavy hand on you,
To break, perhaps, your silver wing,
Or crush your body round and blue.
For you can feel in every part,
Poor fellow, though you can't complain,
And I should have a tender heart,
That would not give another pain.
Poor fellow, though you can't complain,
And I should have a tender heart,
That would not give another pain.
The spider wants you for his food,
So he may kill you any day;
But I should not be kind or good,
To hurt you only for my play.
So he may kill you any day;
But I should not be kind or good,
To hurt you only for my play.
Your little wondrous living frame,
Whose tiny limbs so nicely fit,
And move so gaily, 'twere a shame
If I should tear it bit from bit.
Whose tiny limbs so nicely fit,
And move so gaily, 'twere a shame
If I should tear it bit from bit.
I could not bear to hurt you so,
I'd rather see you sport about,
Grown brisker in the pleasant glow,
When once again the sun comes out.
I'd rather see you sport about,
Grown brisker in the pleasant glow,
When once again the sun comes out.
So spread your wings, poor pretty fly,
Like little silver sails unfurled,
Nor fear because I'm standing by,
I would not hurt you for the world.
Like little silver sails unfurled,
Nor fear because I'm standing by,
I would not hurt you for the world.
| Moral songs | |