Page:Songs of the Road Doyle.djvu/97

Rh He lets the youthful dreamer store

Great projects in his brain,

Until He drops the fungus spore

That smears them out again.

He stores the milk that feeds the babe,

He dulls the tortured nerve;

He gives a hundred joys of sense

Where few or none might serve.

And still He trains the branch of good

Where the high blossoms be,

And wieldeth still the shears of ill

To prune and prime His tree.