The Humming Top
The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet songTo my dear little boy at play—Merrily singeth all day long,As it spinneth and spinneth away.And my dear little boyHe laugheth with joyWhen he heareth the monotoneOf that busy thingThat loveth to singThe 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 mightUpon the banquette here;And straight from the stringThe joyous thingBoundeth and spinneth along,And it whirrs and it chirrsAnd it birrs and it purrsEver 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 toyOf my dear little boy,When the years have worn away,Sing sad and lowOf the long ago,As it singeth to me to-day?