Who shall come hither to seek thy perfume?
“Earth, mother earth, ’tis for her that I labor.
Cheerfully work I by night and by day,
All she hath given, and more, shall I measure
Into her bosom, where yet I shall lay.”
Man, that art heaping up riches and treasure—
Man, that art seeking for praise and for fame—
Man, that art chasing the phantoms of pleasure—
Whose is your toil? Who your labor can claim?
“Earth, mother earth; ’tis for her we are toiling,