Managing the Farm Flock 



43 



Some sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, 



And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime throws 



In the green grassy lap of the madder that lays 



Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiny days ; 



But what is the lily and all of the rest 



Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his breast 



That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew 



Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew? 



I never set eyes on a clover-field now, 



Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, 



But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane 



As the smell of the clover I'm snifRn again ; 



^ :1c :>: ^ ^ ^ :{: 



And so I love clover — it seems like a part 

 Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart ; 

 And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow 

 And thank the good God as I'm thankin' him now. 



-Riley. 



