was a boy, will tell the whole story:

SONG OF THE GRASSHOPPER.

I saw a brown old grasshopper,
And he sat upon a stone,
While ever and anon he chirped
In a sad and mournful tone:
And many an anxious, troubled look
He cast around the naked plain;
Where now was but a stubble field,
Once waved the golden grain.
What ails thee, old brown grasshopper?
His voice was low and faint,
As in the language of his race
He made this dire complaint:
"O! in the long bright summer time
I treasured up no store,
Now the last full sheaf is garnered,
And the harvest days are o'er."

What didst thou, brown old grasshopper,
When the summer days were long?
"I danced on the fragrant clover tops,
With many a merry song;
O! we were a blithesome company,
And a joyous life we led;
But with the flowers and summer hours,
My gay companions fled:
Old age and poverty are come,
The autumn wind is chill,
It whistles through my tattered coat,
And my voice is cracked and shrill.
In a damp and gloomy cavern
Beneath this cold, gray stone,
I must lay me down and perish--
I must perish all alone.
Alas! that in life's golden time
I treasured up no store,
For now the sheaves are gathered in,
And the harvest days are o'er."

He ceased his melancholy wail,
And a tear was in his eye,
As he slowly slid from the cold gray stone,
And laid him down to die.
And then I thought, t'were well if all
In pleasure's idle throng,
Had seen that old brown grasshopper
And heard his dying song:
For life's bright, glowing summer
Is hasting to its close,
And winter's night is coming--
The night of long repose.
O! garner then in reaping time,
A rich, unfailing store,
Ere the summer hours are past and gone,
And the harvest days are o'er!

The little ant is not so foolish. For thousands of years the ant has
always been wise and industrious. In the Book of Proverbs, written over
twenty-five hundred ye