THOU blithe little bee in thy trappings of velvet, 

Thus flying alone yet so briskly away, 

What mission of pleasure or duty has called thee 

To wander abroad on this sunshiny day? 

"I fly and I seek through the meadows and gardens 

Where flowers are blooming," the cheerful bee said; 

"I must hasten to gather the stores of sweet pollen 

To make into wax, into honey, and bread. 

"The hours pass quickly, fair weather is fleeting, 

The summer is gracious, but never will wait; 

The hive must be filled ere the blossoms have withered; 

If autumn o'ertakes us, 't will then be too late." 

Ah, true is thy teaching, thou brave, busy worker; 

No summer will tarry for thee or for me. 

I also must hasten my harvest to gather; 

And away on thy mission, thou blithe little bee. 

—M. E. N. Hatheway