4:50 SELECTED POETRY FOB THE GRANGE. 



A CENTENNIAL HYMN. 



BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



This day, one hundred years ago, 

 The wild grape by the river s side, 

 And tasteless groundnut trailing low, 

 The table of the woods supplied. 



Unknown the apple s red and gold, 

 The blushing tint of peach and pear; 



The mirror of the river told 

 No tale of orchards ripe and rare. 



Wild as the fruits he scorned to till,, 

 Those vales the idle Indian trod; 



Nor knew the glad, creative skill, 

 The joy of him who toils with Goo, 



G! Painter of the fruits and flowers ! 



We thank Thee for thy wise design 

 Whereby these human hands of ours 



In nature s garden work with thine. 



And thanks that from our daily need 

 The joy of simple faith is born; 



That he who smites the summer weed 

 May trust Thee for the autumn corn. 



Tho fools their gold, and knaves their power; 



Let fortune s bubbles rise and fall; 

 Who sows a field, or trains a flower, 

 Or plants a tree, is more than all. 



For he who blesses most is blest; 



And God and man shall own his worth 

 Who toils to leave, as his bequest, 



An added beauty to the earth. 



And, soon or late, to all that sow, 

 The time of harvest shall be given; 



The flower shall bloom, the fruit shall grow, 

 If not on earth, at last in heaven! 



