Don't kill the birds!—the little birds,

That sing about your door,

soon as the joyous spring has come,

And chilling storms are o'er.

The little birds!—how sweet they sing!

O! let them joyous live;

And do not seek to take their life,

Which you can never give.

Don't kill the birds!—the pretty birds

That play among the trees!

'T would make the earth a cheerless place,

Should we dispense with these.

The little birds! how fond they play!

Do not disturb their sport;

But let them warble forth their songs,

Till winter cuts them short.