ORCHARD 



This da i/ two hundred years a</<>. 



Tin- irlld grapes by the rirer's side 

 Arifl tasteless groundnuts trailing low, 



The table of the woods supplied. 



Unknown the apple's red and gold, 



The blushing tints of peach and pear; 



The mirror of the rirer told 



A"o tale of orchards ripe and rare. 



Wild as the fruits he scorned to till, 

 These vales, the idle Indian trod; 



Nor knew the glad creative skill, 



The joy of him who toils with God. 



O painter of the fruits and flowers! 



\\ C thank tliec for tin/ icise design, 

 Whereby these human hands of ours 



In, Xature's garden work ivith thine. 



(iire fools tltcj.r gold and knaves their power; 



Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; 

 \\Tnt sows a, seed or trains a. flower, 



Or plants a tree, is more than all. 



For he who blesses most is blest; 



And God and man shall oicn his worth 

 \\ lio toils to leave as his bequest 



An added beauty to the earth. 



WHITTIEB 



