THE ENVIOUS WREN. 
On the ground lived a Hen, 
In a tree lived a Wren, 
Who picked up her food here and there; 
While Biddy had wheat 
And all nice things to eat 
Said the Wren, " I declare, 'tisn't fair! 
" It is really too bad !" 
She exclaimed — she was mad — 
41 To go out when it's raining this way! 
And to earn what you eat, 
Doesn't make your food sweet, 
In spite of what some folks may say. 
" Now, there is that Hen," 
Said this cross little Wren, 
" She's fed till she's fat as a drum; 
While I strive and sweat 
For each bug that I get, 
And nobody gives me a crumb. 
" I can't see for my life 
Why the old farmer's wife. 
Treats her so much better than me. 
Suppose on the ground 
I hop carelessly round 
For awhile, and just see what I'll see." 
Said this cute little Wren, 
" I'll make friends with the Hen, 
And perhaps she will ask me to stay; 
And then upon bread 
Every day I'll be fed, 
And life will be nothing but play." 
So down flew the Wren; 
"Stop to tea," said the Hen; 
And soon Biddy's supper was sent; 
But scarce stopping to taste, 
The poor bird left in haste, 
And this was the reason she went: 
When the farmer's kind dame 
To the poultry yard came, 
She said — and the Wren shook with fright — 
" Biddy's so fat she'll do 
For a pie or a stew, 
And I guess I shall kill her to-night." 
— Phcebe Cary. 
