THE CROW AND THE PITCHER
A crow who with thirst was ’most ready to die,Looking upward in vain for clouds in the sky,In the road spied a pitcher. Said he, “Well, I thinkPerhaps in that jug is a very nice drink.”And there was; but he found the water so lowHis bill wouldn’t reach, though he stood on tip-toe;After stooping and straining and trying in vain,He stopped to consider the matter again.“Surely,” said he, “it is better by farTo try my best to turn over that jarThan to stand here in torture just dying of thirst—If I don’t get a drink I am sure I shall burst!”His strength insufficient he found it, of course,To turn the jar over by using his force.Then wise Mr. Crow sat him down for to think;“I’llhaveto do something to get me a drink!”He suddenly started, exclaiming, “How queerIt took me so long—the solution’s quite clear!”Then wise Mr. Crow, in the jar, one by one,Dropped stone after stone lying there in the sun.Slowly the water rose brimmingly high,And Mr. Crow drank till the pitcher was dry;Then preening himself, before going to sleep,He thought out some things which are surely quite deep.Said wise Mr. Crow, “Truly never Intention,But Need is the mother of every invention—And now I have lived to tell the queer tale,Perseverancewill win where force often will fail.”
A crow who with thirst was ’most ready to die,Looking upward in vain for clouds in the sky,In the road spied a pitcher. Said he, “Well, I thinkPerhaps in that jug is a very nice drink.”And there was; but he found the water so lowHis bill wouldn’t reach, though he stood on tip-toe;After stooping and straining and trying in vain,He stopped to consider the matter again.“Surely,” said he, “it is better by farTo try my best to turn over that jarThan to stand here in torture just dying of thirst—If I don’t get a drink I am sure I shall burst!”His strength insufficient he found it, of course,To turn the jar over by using his force.Then wise Mr. Crow sat him down for to think;“I’llhaveto do something to get me a drink!”He suddenly started, exclaiming, “How queerIt took me so long—the solution’s quite clear!”Then wise Mr. Crow, in the jar, one by one,Dropped stone after stone lying there in the sun.Slowly the water rose brimmingly high,And Mr. Crow drank till the pitcher was dry;Then preening himself, before going to sleep,He thought out some things which are surely quite deep.Said wise Mr. Crow, “Truly never Intention,But Need is the mother of every invention—And now I have lived to tell the queer tale,Perseverancewill win where force often will fail.”
A crow who with thirst was ’most ready to die,Looking upward in vain for clouds in the sky,In the road spied a pitcher. Said he, “Well, I thinkPerhaps in that jug is a very nice drink.”
A crow who with thirst was ’most ready to die,
Looking upward in vain for clouds in the sky,
In the road spied a pitcher. Said he, “Well, I think
Perhaps in that jug is a very nice drink.”
And there was; but he found the water so lowHis bill wouldn’t reach, though he stood on tip-toe;After stooping and straining and trying in vain,He stopped to consider the matter again.
And there was; but he found the water so low
His bill wouldn’t reach, though he stood on tip-toe;
After stooping and straining and trying in vain,
He stopped to consider the matter again.
“Surely,” said he, “it is better by farTo try my best to turn over that jarThan to stand here in torture just dying of thirst—If I don’t get a drink I am sure I shall burst!”
“Surely,” said he, “it is better by far
To try my best to turn over that jar
Than to stand here in torture just dying of thirst—
If I don’t get a drink I am sure I shall burst!”
His strength insufficient he found it, of course,To turn the jar over by using his force.Then wise Mr. Crow sat him down for to think;“I’llhaveto do something to get me a drink!”
His strength insufficient he found it, of course,
To turn the jar over by using his force.
Then wise Mr. Crow sat him down for to think;
“I’llhaveto do something to get me a drink!”
He suddenly started, exclaiming, “How queerIt took me so long—the solution’s quite clear!”Then wise Mr. Crow, in the jar, one by one,Dropped stone after stone lying there in the sun.
He suddenly started, exclaiming, “How queer
It took me so long—the solution’s quite clear!”
Then wise Mr. Crow, in the jar, one by one,
Dropped stone after stone lying there in the sun.
Slowly the water rose brimmingly high,And Mr. Crow drank till the pitcher was dry;Then preening himself, before going to sleep,He thought out some things which are surely quite deep.
Slowly the water rose brimmingly high,
And Mr. Crow drank till the pitcher was dry;
Then preening himself, before going to sleep,
He thought out some things which are surely quite deep.
Said wise Mr. Crow, “Truly never Intention,But Need is the mother of every invention—And now I have lived to tell the queer tale,Perseverancewill win where force often will fail.”
Said wise Mr. Crow, “Truly never Intention,
But Need is the mother of every invention—
And now I have lived to tell the queer tale,
Perseverancewill win where force often will fail.”
MEMORY GEMS
Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.—Emerson.My son, observe the postage stamp! Its usefulness depends upon its ability to stick to one thing until it gets there.—Josh Billings.My idea is this: ever onward. If God had intended that man should go backward, he would have given him an eye in the back of his head.—Victor Hugo.
Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.—Emerson.
My son, observe the postage stamp! Its usefulness depends upon its ability to stick to one thing until it gets there.—Josh Billings.
My idea is this: ever onward. If God had intended that man should go backward, he would have given him an eye in the back of his head.—Victor Hugo.
Diving and finding no pearls in the sea,Blame not the ocean: the fault is in thee.—Alice Cary.
Diving and finding no pearls in the sea,Blame not the ocean: the fault is in thee.—Alice Cary.
Diving and finding no pearls in the sea,
Blame not the ocean: the fault is in thee.
—Alice Cary.