The Bee.

Now, Ellen, stop screaming and running away,
    And come here and listen to me;
Is it true, my dear daughter, I want you to say,
    That you're foolishly scared by a bee?

The bee is as frightened as you are, my dear,
    For he can't tell the way to get out;
And as for his sting, that you never need fear,
    If you do not run crying about.

If you were to catch him, why, then, I dare say
    You'd soon feel his sharp little sting;
But if you sit still at your work or your play,
    Be sure that no harm he will bring.

So wipe off these tears and never again
    Give way to so foolish a fright;
For if you indulge it 't will cost you much pain
    And no one will want you in sight.