Classic Poem

TOM. E. P.

A MID the rich and cultured blooms that shined,
By friendly hands bound in a birthday gift,
I found the homely, dear white clover hid,
And thanked at heart the thought which placed it there, —
The plain, good flower that cheerfully fulfills
Its homely duties in the common field,
Or by the road, ambitious of no more
Than to give needed food to kine and bees;
Yet serves God's higher love to human hearts,
When some poor, ragged, brown-cheeked boy or girl,
Crossing the field, — the poor child's only garden, —
Plucks it for nosegay or for ornament
Or sucks a moment's pleasure from its cells;
Or when some one, not poor nor young, whose heart
Is yet a child, nor scornful of cheap joys,
Taking beyond the streets his morning walk,
Perceives a sudden fragrance in the air,
And, looking down, beholds the clover bloom,
And thanks the Lord who scatters common things
Tomake us learn to value common things,
To prize those things which we may share in common
With all, the humblest, more than things select.
He sows June fields with clover, and the world
Broadcasts with little common kindnesses,
With plain, good souls that cheerfully fulfill
Their homely duties in the common field
Of daily life, ambitious of no more
Than to supply the needs of friend or kin,
Yet serve God's higher will to human hearts,
Giving a very fragrance to the home,
The hidden sweetness of a kindly heart.