Part 3 (1/2)

”THERE IS STRENGTH IN THE SOIL”

There is strength in the soil; In the earth there is laughter and youth.

There is solace and hope in the upturned loam.

And lo, I shall plant my soul in it here like a seed!

And forth it shall come to me as a flower of song; For I know it is good to get back to the earth That is orderly, placid, all-patient!

It is good to know how quiet And noncommittal it breathes, This ample and opulent bosom That must some day nurse us all!

ARTHUR STRINGER

IN THE WOMB

Still rests the heavy share on the dark soil: Upon the black mould thick the dew-damp lies: The horse waits patient: from his lowly toil The ploughboy to the morning lifts his eyes.

The unbudding hedgerows dark against day's fires Glitter with gold-lit crystals: on the rim Over the unregarding city's spires The lonely beauty s.h.i.+nes alone for him.

And day by day the dawn or dark unfolds And feeds with beauty eyes that cannot see How in her womb the mighty mother moulds The infant spirit for eternity.

”A. E.”

(GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL)

PUTTING IN THE SEED

You come to fetch me from my work to-night When supper's on the table, and we'll see If I can leave off burying the white Soft petals fallen from the apple tree.

(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;) And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me,

Slave to a springtime pa.s.sion for the earth.

How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,

The st.u.r.dy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

ROBERT FROST

THE WHISPER OF EARTH

In the misty hollow, shyly greening branches Soften to the south wind, bending to the rain.

From the moistened earthland flutter little whispers, Breathing hidden beauty, innocent of stain.

Little plucking fingers tremble through the gra.s.ses, Little silent voices sigh the dawn of spring, Little burning earth-flames break the awful stillness, Little crying wind-sounds come before the King.

Powers, dominations urge the budding of the crocus, Cherubim are singing in the moist cool stone, Seraphim are calling through the channels of the lily, G.o.d has heard the earth-cry and journeys to His throne.

EDWARD J. O'BRIEN