Classic Poem

Plant flowers! yea, flowers! What care or cost
Shall the generous hand deny,
These sinless symbols of all we've lost,
And all we seek on high!
Flowers to carry the breath of spring
To windows and walks and eaves;
Flowers! what sorrow in heart or wing
But shelters among their leaves!

Plant fruit; yea, fruit! in no niggard hole
To rival the slug-worm's toil;
But wide as the Patriot's unbought soul,
And deep in the cream of soil!
Fruit, to temper the Winter's ruth,
To soften the Summer's rage;
Fruit! to brighten the morn of Youth,
And mellow the eve of Age.

Plant fruit and flowers; yea, flowers and fruit!
The boughs may be bare and cold,
But a subtle alchemyst at the root
Is turning thy toil to gold,
Who follows thy foot-prints silently,
Nor sleeps when thy labors close,
Until the wilderness “glad for thee,”
Is “blossoming like the rose!”