O flower at my
Why blossom you so fair,
With your green and purple
Upturned to sun and air?'I bloom, blithesome Bessie,
To cheer your childish heart;
The world is full of labor,
And this shall be my part.'Whirl, busy wheel, faster,
Spin, little thread, spin;
The sun shines fair without,
And we are gay within.
O robin in the tree-top,
With sunshine on your breast,
Why brood you so
Above your hidden nest?'I brood, blithesome Bessie,
And sing my humble song,
That the world may have more
From my little ones erelong.'Whirl, busy wheel, faster,
Spin, little thread, spin;
The sun shines fair without,
And we are gay within.
O balmy wind of summer,
O silver-singing brook,
Why rustle through the branches?
Why shimmer in your nook?'I flutter, blithesome Bessie,
Like a blessing far and wide;
I scatter bloom and
Where'er my footsteps glide.'Whirl, busy wheel, faster,
Spin, little thread, spin;
The sun shines fair without,
And we are gay within.
O brook and breeze and blossom,
And robin on the tree,
You make a joy of duty,
A pride of industry;
Teach me to work as blithely,
With a willing hand and heart:
The world is full of labor,
And I must do my part.
Whirl, busy wheel, faster,
Spin, little thread, spin;
The sun shines fair without,
And we are gay within.
