THE ANT AND THE CRICKET

A silly young cricket, accustomed to sing Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, Began to complain, when he found that at home His cupboard was empty and winter was come.

Not a crumb to be found On the snow-covered ground; Not a flower could he see, Not a leaf on a tree: "Oh, what will become," says the cricket, "of me?"

At last by starvation and famine made bold, All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold, Away he set off to a miserly ant, To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant Him shelter from rain: A mouthful of grain He wished only to borrow, He'd repay it to-morrow: If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow.

Says the ant to the cricket, "I'm your servant and friend, But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend; But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I.

My heart was so light That I sang day and night, For all nature looked gay."

"You sang, sir, you say?

Go then," said the ant, "and dance winter away."

Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket And out of the door turned the poor little cricket.

Though this is a fable, the moral is good: If you live without work, you must live without food.

Unknown

AFTER WINGS

This was your b.u.t.terfly, you see,-- His fine wings made him vain: The caterpillars crawl, but he Pa.s.sed them in rich disdain.-- My pretty boy says, "Let him be Only a worm again!"

O child, when things have learned to wear Wings once, they must be fain To keep them always high and fair: Think of the creeping pain Which even a b.u.t.terfly must bear To be a worm again!

Sarah M. B. Piatt [1836-1919]

DEEDS OF KINDNESS

Suppose the little Cowslip Should hang its golden cup And say, "I'm such a little flower I'd better not grow up!"

How many a weary traveller Would miss its fragrant smell, How many a little child would grieve To lose it from the dell!

Suppose the glistening Dewdrop Upon the gra.s.s should say, "What can a little dewdrop do?

I'd better roll away!"

The blade on which it rested, Before the day was done, Without a drop to moisten it, Would wither in the sun.

Suppose the little Breezes, Upon a summer's day, Should think themselves too small to cool The traveller on his way: Who would not miss the smallest And softest ones that blow, And think they made a great mistake If they were acting so?

How many deed of kindness A little child can do, Although it has but little strength And little wisdom too!

It wants a loving spirit Much more than strength, to prove How many things a child may do For others by its love.

Epes Sargent [1813-1880]

THE LION AND THE MOUSE

A lion with the heat oppressed, One day composed himself to rest: But while he dozed as he intended, A mouse, his royal back ascended; Nor thought of harm, as Aesop tells, Mistaking him for someone else; And travelled over him, and round him, And might have left him as she found him Had she not--tremble when you hear-- Tried to explore the monarch's ear!

Who straightway woke, with wrath immense, And shook his head to cast her thence.

"You rascal, what are you about?"

Said he, when he had turned her out, "I'll teach you soon," the lion said, "To make a mouse-hole in my head!"

So saying, he prepared his foot To crush the trembling tiny brute; But she (the mouse) with tearful eye, Implored the lion's clemency, Who thought it best at last to give His little prisoner a reprieve.

'Twas nearly twelve months after this, The lion chanced his way to miss; When pressing forward, heedless yet, He got entangled in a net.

With dreadful rage, he stamped and tore, And straight commenced a lordly roar; When the poor mouse, who heard the noise, Attended, for she knew his voice.

Then what the lion's utmost strength Could not effect, she did at length; With patient labor she applied Her teeth, the network to divide; And so at last forth issued he, A lion, by a mouse set free.

Few are so small or weak, I guess, But may a.s.sist us in distress, Nor shall we ever, if we're wise, The meanest, or the least despise.

Jeffreys Taylor [1792-1853]

THE BOY AND THE WOLF

A little Boy was set to keep A little flock of goats or sheep; He thought the task too solitary, And took a strange perverse vagary: To call the people out of fun, To see them leave their work and run, He cried and screamed with all his might,-- "Wolf! wolf!" in a pretended fright.

Some people, working at a distance, Came running in to his a.s.sistance.

They searched the fields and bushes round, The Wolf was nowhere to be found.

The Boy, delighted with his game, A few days after did the same, And once again the people came.

The trick was many times repeated, At last they found that they were cheated.

One day the Wolf appeared in sight, The Boy was in a real fright, He cried, "Wolf! wolf!"--the neighbors heard, But not a single creature stirred.

"We need not go from our employ,-- 'Tis nothing but that idle boy."

The little Boy cried out again, "Help, help! the Wolf!" he cried in vain.

At last his master came to beat him.

He came too late, the Wolf had eat him.

This shows the bad effect of lying, And likewise of continual crying.

If I had heard you scream and roar, For nothing, twenty times before, Although you might have broke your arm, Or met with any serious harm, Your cries could give me no alarm; They would not make me move the faster, Nor apprehend the least disaster; I should be sorry when I came, But you yourself would be to blame.

John Hookham Frere [1769-1846]

THE STORY OF AUGUSTUS, WHO WOULD NOT HAVE ANY SOUP

Augustus was a chubby lad; Fat, ruddy cheeks Augustus had; And everybody saw with joy The plump and hearty, healthy boy.

He ate and drank as he was told, And never let his soup get cold.

But one day, one cold winter's day, He screamed out--"Take the soup away!

O take the nasty soup away!

I won't have any soup to-day."

Next day begins his tale of woes; Quite lank and lean Augustus grows.

Yet, though he feels so weak and ill, The naughty fellow cries out still-- "Not any soup for me, I say: O take the nasty soup away!