Page 36 - Poetry-Country

“Your weeds, I notice, are good and tall,
In spite of all your prayers;
You may pray for corn till the heavens fall,
If you don’t dig up the tares.

“I mix my prayers with a little toil
Along in every row;
And I work this mixture into the soil,
Quite vig’rous with a hoe.
“So while I’m praying I use my hoe,
And do my level best
To keep down the weeds along each row,
And the Lord, He does the rest.
“It’s well to pray both night and morn,
As every farmer knows;
But the place to pray for thrifty corn
Is right between the rows.
“You must use your hands while praying though,
If an answer you would get,
For prayer-worn knees and a rusty hoe
Never raised a big crop yet.
“And so I believe, my good old friend,
If you mean to win the day,
From plowing, clean to harvest’s end,
You must work as well as pray.”

—([Philadelphia] Agricultural Almanack, 1893)

The Child and the Chestnut Burrs

The chestnuts closed their houses tight,
But Jack Frost opened them all last night.
I think, some time, I’ll sit up and see
When he opens the burrs, if he won’t show me.
For I’ve wondered so, and I wish I knew
Why he don’t get pricked, as my fingers do.
And I can’t see why, after all his fuss,
He leaves them here in the grass for us!

—(from a Victorian Scrap Album)

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