The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet
To my dear little boy at play -Merrily singeth all day long,
As it spinneth and spinneth away.
And my dear little
He laugheth with
When he heareth the
Of that busy
That loveth to
The song that is all its own.
Hold fast the string and wind it tight,
That the song be loud and clear;
Now hurl the top with all your
Upon the banquette here;
And straight from the
The joyous
Boundeth and spinneth along,
And it whirrs and it
And it birrs and it
Ever its pretty song.
Will ever my dear little boy grow old,
As some have grown before?
Will ever his heart feel faint and cold,
When he heareth the songs of yore?
Will ever this
Of my dear little boy,
When the years have worn away,
Sing sad and
Of the long ago,
As it singeth to me to-day?
