Give fools their gold and knaves their power; Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; Who sows a field, or trains a flower Or plants a tree is more than all. For he who blesses most is blest; And God and man shall own his worth Who toils to leave as his bequest An added beauty to the earth.
1. There's a bird whose name tells if he flies fast or slow,
2. One which boys use when with long strides they go,
3. There is one that tells tales, although he can't sing,
4. And one who flies high, but is held by a string.
5. By one a high rank in the army is held;
6. There's another whose name with one letter is spelled.
7. There is one that a farmer in harvest would use;
8. And one you can easily fool if you choose.
9. What bird, at dessert, is it useful to hold?
10. And which in the chimney place oft hung of old?
11. Which bird wears a bit of sky in its dress?
12. Which one always stands in the corner at chess?
13. There is one built a church, of London the pride;
14. We have one when we talk with a friend by our side.
15. What bird would its bill find useful at tea,
16. And which would its tail use to steer with at sea?
17. Which proudly a musical instrument wears?
18. And which the same name as a small island bears?
19. Which bird is called foolish and stupid and silly?
20. And which always wanting to punish poor Billy?
21. Which bird is an artisan, works at his trade?
22. And which is the stuff of which flags are made?
23. One, we're told by the poet, at Heaven's gate sings;
24. There's one which in Holland the new baby brings.
25. What bird have we with us in eating and drinking?
26. One, used for a fence, you can say without thinking.
27. What bird is a scoffer, a scorner, a jest?
28. Which one is too lazy to build her own nest?
29. From a high wind at evening one name is inferred.
30. Guess these, and you're wise as Minerva's own bird.
He sits on the branch of yon blossoming tree, This mad-cap cousin of Robin and Thrush, And sings without ceasing the whole morning long; Now wild, now tender, the wayward song That flows from his soft gray, fluttering throat; But oft he stops in his sweetest note, And shaking a flower from the blossoming bough, Drawls out: "Mi-eu, mi-ow!"
He didn't know much music When first he come along; An' all the birds went wonderin' Why he didn't sing a song.