The self-same garden, typed by Spring and Autumn,
Seed-time and harvest! If that thought be true,
With bathed forelock and with steadfast soul
Gather the harvest of Gethsemane,
More precious than the flowers that smiled in Eden.
The task is thine—first husbandman, then reaper.
Stranger.Talk further of the boy who sung the hymn.
Sailor.That spotless child, the rudest of the crew
Loved, for his presence made us better men.
Stranger.True, all men who love children still grow better;