Classic Poem

Her children play in artificial fields,
Made warm and rosy with electric hue;
Rugs are their moss and floors their only sod,
And painted ceilings, patterned after God,
Smile over them with unrelenting blue.
My children know the joys that Nature yields,
In happy meadows glorified with dew;
With shout and cry and laughter, gushing free,
Companioned by the robin and the bee
They romp the wild day through.

Her children gaze on tantalizing bloom
At florist counters, primly out of reach,
Or, from their window ledge
In bowl or cup
They watch the miracle of Spring rush up.
They learn the lesson that the flowers teach
From hot house daisies, drooping in a room.
My children have a friend in every hedge;
From road, and swamp and hill
They learn at will
The truths that pulpits preach.

O, children, and O, mothers, come with me!
Leave the harsh friendship of the city street,
The scant green pleasure of the wayside park
And homes that hold the dark.
Shake the hot dust of pavements from your feet,
Come out into the open and be free ...
For oh! — the woods and grasses are so sweet
And God will show you in his scarlet fire
Leaping in every tiny twig and spire
How radiant life may be!