Classic Poem

I
One hundred feet from off the ground
That noble Aloe blows;
But mark ye by what skill profound
His charming grandeur rose.

II
One hundred years of patient care
The gardners did bestow
Toil and hereditary pray'r
Made all this glorious show.

III
Thus man goes on from year to year,
And bears no fruit at all;
But gracious God, still unsevere,
Bids show'rs of blessings fall.

IV
The beams of mercy, dews of grace,
Our Saviour still supplies--
Ha! ha! the soul regains her place,
And sweetens all the skies.