But chicky wistfully eyed the brook
And didn't half believe her,
For she seemed to say, by a knowing look,
Such stories couldn't deceive her.
And as her mother was scratching the ground,
She muttered, lower and lower,
"I know I can go there and not be drowned,
And so, I think, I'll show her."
Then she made a plunge where the stream was deep,
And saw, too late, her blunder,
For she had hardly time to peep;
When her foolish head went under.
And now I hope her fate will show
The child my story reading,
That those that are older sometimes know
What you will do well in heeding;
That each content in his place should dwell,
And envy not his brother;
For any part that is acted well,
Is just as good as another.
For we all have our proper sphere below,
And this is a truth worth knowing:
You will come to grief if you try to go
Where you were never made for going.
(Phœbe Cary.)
