Sweet-smelling heaps that Abel rested on.
And two have heard the summons on the air,
And turned from labor, the embodied prayer;
Bowed with the fine humility of trees,
Of bended barley in the quiet breeze;
As faithful as the never-failing Earth
That gives us bread of rest and bread of mirth;
As patient as the rocks that have been still
Since put into their places on the hill;
In league with Earth and all her quiet things,