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32
Ned Farmer's Scrap Book.
Oh, how I hate my lowly fate!"
These were his foolish words;
Nor are these envious feelings all
Monopolized by birds.
One day the wind was blowing hard,
He sat with upturned eyes,
When out the Jackdaw's nest was blown,
And through the air it flies.
AU the poor throng of unfledged young
Were dashed upon the ground;
And then, and not till then, the truth
Of this "old saw" he found—
Which tells alike of men and birds,
Of great as well as small,
The higher up we build our nests,
The further we've to fall!
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