QL 



ME TEMPS YCHOSIS 



OUT of the toil and trouble, out of the stream and 



strife, 

 To the bosom of Mother Nature I now commend 



my life ; 

 My torment and my treasure, I lay it down at her 



feet, 

 The shadow and the sunshine, the bitter and the 



sweet. 

 What will our Mother do with it ? Whither away 



will she fly ? 

 Will she play with it on the wavelets, or follow 



the cloud through the sky V 

 Will she fill the veins of the flowers, or dance 



with it on the breeze ? 

 Will it swell the storm on the mountain, or the 



murmur amidst the trees ? 

 Bury it not with the beetle, give it not to the 



grass, 

 Where the heavy ox and the ploughman may 



trample it as they pass ; 

 But, Mother O Mother of wonders! if ever a 



prayer may be heard, 

 Let my poor little life spring upwards and boat in 



the heart of a bird ! 



September 1<J, 1802. 



8G6138 



