They built it out of sticks and straws

And little bits of feather.

It was upon an apple bough,

With blossoms all around it;

So neatly wove and fitted in

That no one ever found it.

And there four little birds lay hid,

With nice green leaves to shield them,

And there they peeped and flapped about,

And well the old ones fed them.

And when the hawk comes hovering near,

The speckled hen gives a cry of fear,

And the little chickens, every one,

Up to her in a moment run,

Safely hide beneath her wings.

Oh! the nice old speckled hen,

With her pretty chickens ten.

LULLABY.

There, lullaby, and I will sing to you

A little song about a yellow bird

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