The Humming Top

The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song     To my dear little boy at play -     Merrily singeth all day long,     As it spinneth and spinneth away.     And my dear little boy     He laugheth with joy     When he heareth the monotone     Of that busy thing     That loveth to sing     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 might     Upon the banquette here;     And straight from the string     The joyous thing     Boundeth and spinneth along,     And it whirrs and it chirrs     And it birrs and it purrs     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 toy     Of my dear little boy,     When the years have worn away,     Sing sad and low     Of the long ago,     As it singeth to me to-day?