The Ploughman and His Sons

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  "source_title": "The Ploughman and His Sons",
  "tts_title": "The Ploughman and His Sons",
  "title": "The Ploughman and His Sons",
  "slug": "ploughman-sons",
  "url": "https://fairytalez.com/ploughman-sons/",
  "collection": "La Fontaine",
  "published_date": "January 17, 2015",
  "regions": [
    "French"
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  "reading_level": "Easy",
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  "body": [
    "The farmer’s patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil. A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, Call’d in his sons apart from every friend, And said, “When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal’d: The place, precisely, I don’t know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past, Time’s forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch’d a single clod.” The father died. The sons—and not in vain— Turn’d o’er the soil, and o’er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e’er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their father wisely done, To show by such a measure, That toil itself is treasure."
  ],
  "body_text": "The farmer’s patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil. A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, Call’d in his sons apart from every friend, And said, “When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal’d: The place, precisely, I don’t know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past, Time’s forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch’d a single clod.” The father died. The sons—and not in vain— Turn’d o’er the soil, and o’er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e’er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their father wisely done, To show by such a measure, That toil itself is treasure.",
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    "The farmer's patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil. A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, Call'd in his sons apart from every friend, And said, \"When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal'd: The place, precisely, I don't know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past, Time's forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod.\" The father died. The sons - and not in vain - Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e'er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their father wisely done, To show by such a measure, That toil itself is treasure."
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  "clean_text": "The farmer's patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil. A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, Call'd in his sons apart from every friend, And said, \"When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal'd: The place, precisely, I don't know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past, Time's forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod.\" The father died. The sons - and not in vain - Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e'er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their father wisely done, To show by such a measure, That toil itself is treasure.",
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    "The farmer's patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil. A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end, Call'd in his sons apart from every friend, And said, \"When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal'd: The place, precisely, I don't know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past, Time's forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod.\" The father died. The sons - and not in vain - Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e'er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their father wisely done, To show by such a measure, That toil itself is treasure."
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