The Lesson

Mother tells little bee,
Yonder wax taper flee;
But for his mother’s prayers
Little bee little cares.

Round the light hovers he,
Humming all merrily;
Mother’s cry hears not he,
Little bee! Little bee!

Youthful one! Foolish one!
Poor little simpleton!
In the flame rusheth he,
Little bee! Little bee!

Now the flame flickers high,
In the flame he must die:
’Ware of the maidens, then,
Sons of men! Sons of men!