Hark! from thy close-wrapped heart doth come
The working bee’s glad, soundful hum,
Where loads of pollen he doth find
His waxen honey cells to bind.
So, thou hast place in fields of use,
And vain are now words of abuse—
Giving the best thy heart doth hold
To help the workers of the world.
And giving thus, with patient grace,
Doth baser qualities efface,