T

LITTLE Bee, one sunny day,
Through garden beds sped on its way;
It went from flower to flower.
As on its busy way it flew,
It entered blossoms white and blue,
And lingered by the bower.
Each lovely blossom with its cup,
Something of sweetness yielded up,
Something of what was good.
There was no flower that I could see
But gave up something to the bee—
Each one did what it could.
As on through life I go each day,
And here and there pursue my way,
Like to that busy bee.
Oh, may I gather what is good,
And find for heart and mind sweet food,
Enriched by all I see!