It appears that we owe you our acres of soil,
      That the garden could never exist without you,
    That from ages gone by you were patient in toil,
      Till a Darwin revealed all the good that you do. 
    Now you’ve turned with a vengeance, and all must confess
      Your behavior should make poor humanity squirm;
    For there’s many a man on this planet, I guess,
      Who is not half so useful as you, Mister worm.

PUNCH.

* * * * *

GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.

    Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
    Catching your heart up at the feet of June,
    Sole voice that’s heard amidst the lazy noon,
    Whenever the bees lag at the summoning brass;
    And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
    With those who think the candles come too soon,
    Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
    Nicks the glad silent moments as they pass.

    O sweet and tidy cousins, that belong
    One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
    Both have your sunshine:  both, though small, are strong
    At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth
    To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song—­
    Indoors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.

LEIGH HUNT.

* * * * *

THE HONEY-BEES.

          Therefore doth Heaven divide
    The state of man in divers functions,
    Setting endeavor in continual motion;
    To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
    Obedience:  for so work the honey-bees;
    Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
    The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
    They have a king and officers of sorts: 
    Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
    Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
    Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds;
    Which pillage they with merry march bring home
    To the tent royal of their emperor: 
    Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
    THE SINGING MASONS BUILDING ROOFS OF GOLD;
    The civil citizens kneading up the honey;
    The poor mechanic porters crowding in
    Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
    The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
    Delivering o’er to the executioner’s pale
    The lazy, yawning drone.

SHAKESPEARE:  Henry V., Act 1, Sc. 2.

* * * * *

CUNNING BEE.

    Said a little wandering maiden
    To a bee with honey laden,
    “Bee, at all the flowers you work,
    Yet in some does poison lurk.”

    “That I know, my little maiden,”
    Said the bee with honey laden;
    “But the poison I forsake,
    And the honey only take.”

    “Cunning bee with honey laden,
    That is right,” replied the maiden;
    “So will I, from all I meet,
    Only draw the good and sweet.”