 | Later poems by John B. Tabb |  |
59
TO THE WHEATFIELD
Give us this day our daily bread.“Oh wheat,” the wind, in passing, said,
“'Tis you that answer everywhere
This call of Life's incessant prayer;
Bow, then, in reverence your head,
For 'tis the Master's gift you bear.”
| Later poems by John B. Tabb | |