112 STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



years go by, from the men who attempt to produce fruit by it. Therefore, 

 turn the searchlight of knowledge on the dark places wherever and by what- 

 ever means possible, making our work not a coercing of our baser nature to 

 the accomplishment of a hopeless task, but making a hopeful and cheerful 

 exercise of our highest faculties. 



WHERE NATURE'S HAND FALLS SOFTEST. 



[Annual poem, read before Michigan State Horticultural Society at Battle Creek, Dec» 



3, 1907.] 



E. L. KEASET, SOUTH HAVEN, MICH. 



Could this weak pen of mine be given the power 

 To trace in words the beauties of this earth — 

 I first would choose some tree or fragrant flower 

 And base my story on their wondrous birth. 

 I'd picture out a landscape broad and fair, 

 And on each bending hill I'd plant a tree; 

 And then, I'd build a cottage here and there, 

 And place their windows so that all might see. 



I'd place a lawn before each cottage door, 

 And on these plots I'd plant my favored flowers. 

 And when, at eve, the day's rough duties o'er, 

 I'd have my people rest within these bowers. 

 And then to make fond memories closer cling — 

 To bind the childhood heart to denser charm, 

 I'd place on some out-stretching bough a swing, 

 Lest we forget the joys down on the farm. 



I'd also plan my "fields in such a way 



That passers-by would pause to view the scene; 



I'd have my rows and fences add display 



To fields of waving grain and meadows green. 



And, in this wondrous story I would tell, 



I'd not forget the dear old orchard land. 



For out of this comes that we all love well — 



These ruddy fruits, fresh from Dame Nature's hand. 



And then, to round my story out complete, — 

 To lend this pictured landscape life and light, 

 I'd want to hear the tread of busy feet. 

 And see some sunny faces warm and bright. 

 My pastures I would dot with feeding kine, 

 And out within the wood-lot I would keep 

 A drove of well-bred money making swine. 

 As well as flocks of high-grade favored sheep. 



And all among the trees I'd have my birds. 

 They'd serve as leaven to each saddened heart; 

 And, though we fail to understand their words. 

 Yet, through each gladsome note they'd joy impart. 

 Then in the midst of all this pictured scene 

 I'd place that sacred precinct known as home. 

 Then all around this group of views serene 

 I'd bend a frame, made up of God's blue dome. 



