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THUS TO PRAY

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 24, 1901

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 27, No. 30.

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THUS TO PRAY.

By Jane Haskell

Hail, ye sons of toil, whose altars are The burden of the pregnant, upturned clod; From the first morn of earth until the far, Faint gleam of heaven’s last, lingering star, The worshipers of earth, and pride of God! Hail, ye lovers of the early morn, Fathers of the garnered harvest-field! A pride that eve shall view thy labors done,— O, joy shall flame the leaves of laurels won In gleaming billows of the golden yield. May sword and shield and bayonet rust away, And bright, ye sickles, gleam each harvest day!
Up, lad of rosy cheeks and dusky brow! Free wash thee in the sparkles of the morn. Hence! train thy sturdy limbs behind the plow; Ambrosia pluck from trailing, laden bough, And sleep thy nooning nap ’neath shades of corn; Then up, and worship in full work, until Rest seems most sweet, and in the lulling west The eye of day sleeps in the purple hill; Then home thee to thy own nest with a will, And dream thee as upon thy mother’s breast. Ah, such full worship may a famine stay; O hearken, fellow-mortals, thus to pray.
JANE HASKELL.