A yel-low But-ter-fly one day,
Grown tired of play and tired of fly-ing,
Up-on a this-tle blos-som grey
With out-spread wings was i-dly ly-ing.
The stur-dy bees went hum-ming by,
Draw-ing sweet ho-ney from the clo-ver,
Nor stir-red the yel-low But-ter-fly,
For he was but an i-dle ro-ver.
Two lit-tle girls, named Anne and May,
Came by with mirth and laugh-ter ring-ing,
Anne ran to seize the in-sect gay—
May fol-low-ed fast and ceased her sing-ing.
"Oh! dar-ling An-nie, let it be,
Your touch will rob its plumes of beau-ty;
And God, who made both you and me,
Has taught us kind-ness is a du-ty." |
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