A SONG FOR THE WORKER.
HOW would it seem, I wonder,
If the meadow near and far
Had never a buttercup,
And never a daisy star?
Never a sweet, wild violet,
And never a primrose gay?
Only the grasses needful
For making the useful bay?
If in the still, green forest
There wasn't a wild song-bird;
If robin and thrush and wren
Nobody ever heard;
If all was for simple use,
Nothing for beauty or joy—
Oh! How weary were life
Without some pleasant alloy!
But nature teaches us ever
A lesson that's far more sweet.
See how the crimson poppies
Follow the golden wheat!
Wheat for the bread of the world,
Poppies for beauty alone;
Wheat and poppies together
In every age and zone.
Always the morning-glories
Cling to the cotton plant,
While over the snowy harvest
Thrushes and blackbirds chant..
The strength of the forest trees
To the duties of life belong;
But their cool, green palaces
Are for the wild bird's song.
Take to thy heart the lesson,
Man with the downcast eyes!
Many an innocent joy
Bright in thy pathway lies.
Still let thy daily labor
Beauty and pleasure greet,
Just as the idle poppy
Brightens the fields of wheat.
Just as the morning-glories
Climb up the cotton plant,
Just as the birds when building
Unto their labor chant;
The stress of thy daily labor
With beauty and love renew;
Busily toil in the wheat field,
But gather the poppies too.
Lillie R. Barr.
