[See image]

[Read text]

THE CROWS SEEK SPOIL FROM THE PLOUGHMAN’S TOIL.

The father crows with tender heart
In the parental cares take part—
“Caw! Caw!” they say, “for food we’ll fly
Before our young ones hungry cry.”
In course direct they fly afar
To where the ploughmen lab’ring are,
And, seeking in the upturn’d soil,
They meet with many a wormy spoil;
And, filling their capacious beak,
Straightway their forest homes they seek.

[See image]

[Read text]

THE FATHER GOOD BRINGS YOUNG ONES FOOD.

The young crows see them homeward fly,
And stretch their skinny necks on high;
And gulping down the luscious food,
“Caw! Caw!” they say, “’tis very good.”
So daily every parent flies,
Each young one grows in strength and size;
Till seated on a branch at length,
Exulting in increasing strength,
“Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!” they proudly cry,
“We shall be flying by and bye;”
But ah, poor Crows, there’s many a slip
Between the cup and longing lip.