IN THE STORM
Hear the gale roaring through the woods!
Trees bend and snap and sway;
They race and break on this dark day.
If I could fashion some sturdy hoods
To hold the storm at bay,
Then trim and straight would all trees stay.
But great trees knotted by winds' moods,
Like men who face their care,
Stand scarred yet stanch and bravely there.
TO US
O petty trifles! Why cling to us so?
Our time in doing small things quite consumed,
And hearts protected like earth worms encased,
Always singing childish songs, sol me do,
And crawling safe in shady vales below,
Like snails advancing, scoff and hurt endured,
Dead there upon the rack, no port secured.
O brother plant, some grains of corn will grow!
The faithful farmer sows live fertile seed.
Be not a grub but rise and stretch hands up
When on the height reach down to troubled friend,
And lift your fellowmen, toil not for greed.
Wash out the grounds and fill the empty cup.
The rose will bloom where rocky pathways wend.
THE FLY AND THE SPIDER
The big black fly was in a sorry plight;
She hung and dangled in a spider's web.
It was too late to make a hurried flight.
The sand is sifting and the tides will ebb.
The spider then drew dose his silken thread,
It was no use to ask the reason why.
He only wished to eat and save his head,
And he must catch his breakfast, or die.