(1)

Among the flowers he turned the sod,
When first I glanced his way,
He gave me then a friendly nod,
And wished me kind " Good-day. "

I liked his candid face so well,
That I had wish to know
What he about himself might tell,
My Hero of the Hoe.
So when I passed along that way
And saw the old man there,
I loitered near his gate to say
How sweet the lupins were.

He dropped his hoe upon the clods.
And came my hands to fill —
" They are not mine, " he said, " they're God's —
And grew by His good will. "

(2)

" Yes, yes " , he said, " I know they're sweet,
And so does every bee,
And every baby in the street
Loves them as well as me. "

I stayed to talk about the flowers
Before I went away,
And promised in the sunset hours,
To come again some day.

I gave him once a tiny plant
Of shamrock sweet and wild,
And off his guard with eager pant.
He clutched it like a child.

And o'er his features, Godly grand,
A gleam of soul-light shone,
Ah, then I knew his native land
Was calling to her own.

" 'Tis fifty year " , he slowly said,
" 'Tis fifty years today,
Since I with others, fortune led,
Set sail for Botany Bay " .