 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
TO MY FRIEND.
If we should see one sowing seed
With patient care and toil and pain,
Then to some other garden speed
And sow again;
With patient care and toil and pain,
Then to some other garden speed
And sow again;
And so right on from day to day,
And so right on through months and years,
Watering the furrows all the way
With rain of tears;
And so right on through months and years,
Watering the furrows all the way
With rain of tears;
Ne'er gladdened by the yellowing top
Of harvest, nor of ripened rose,
Till suddenly the plough should stop,—
The work-day close;
Of harvest, nor of ripened rose,
Till suddenly the plough should stop,—
The work-day close;
Should we not, as hte day ran by,
Wonder to see him take no ease,
And cry at nightfall, “Vanity
Of Vanities!”
Wonder to see him take no ease,
And cry at nightfall, “Vanity
Of Vanities!”
And yet 't is thus, my friend, the hours
And days go by, with you and me.
We, too, are sowing seeds of flowers
We never see.
And days go by, with you and me.
We, too, are sowing seeds of flowers
We never see.
Sometimes we sow in soil of sin;
Sometimes where choking thorns abound;
And sometimes cast our good seed in
Dry, stony ground.
Sometimes where choking thorns abound;
And sometimes cast our good seed in
Dry, stony ground.
Our stalks spring up and fade and die
Under the burning noontide heat,
And hopes and plans about us lie
All incomplete;
Under the burning noontide heat,
And hopes and plans about us lie
All incomplete;
And as the toilsome days go by
Unrespited with flowery ease,
Angels may cry out, “Vanity
Of Vanities!”
Unrespited with flowery ease,
Angels may cry out, “Vanity
Of Vanities!”
Oh, when, fruitionless, the night
Descends upon our day of ills,
God grant we find our harvests white
On heavenly hills.
Descends upon our day of ills,
God grant we find our harvests white
On heavenly hills.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |