The Force Of Need

"Hey, Robin! ho, Robin! Singing on the tree, I will give you white bread, If you will come to me."

"Oh! the little breeze is singing To the nodding dairies white, And the tender grass is springing, And the sun is warm and bright; And my little mate is waiting In the budding hedge for me; So, on the whole, I'll not accept Your kindly courtesy."

"Hey, Robin! ho, Robin! Now the north winds blow Wherefore do you come here, In the ice and snow?"

"The wind is raw, the flowers are dead, The frost is on the thorn, So I'll gladly take a crust of bread, And come where it is warm."

Oh, Children! little Children! Have you ever chanced to see One beg for crust that sneered at crumb In bright prosperity?