Page:The Granite Monthly Volume 2.djvu/29

Rh "But, Martha, while you're delving here
 * These rare June days speed by,

Such days! when God seems reaching down,
 * And heaven's own glories nigh!

Come, live this golden day with me
 * And let the trimmings lie! "

"Nay, Mary, that will never do;
 * I am not brave to dare

The whole gay world in quaker dress
 * Like that you choose to wear;

So I must work away at home
 * Though earth and skies are fair.

"Martha, you say that you believe
 * When these frail forms decay

The thinking mind lives on and on
 * In realms of endless day,

And all the good it gathers up
 * It bears along its way.

"And yet, to deck this fading form
 * You spend your time and care,

And let the living spirit starve,
 * Shut off from all that's rare;

Bending its Godlike powers down
 * To less than empty air."

"I know, friend Mary, what you say
 * Is very good and true,

And yet, the folks that live your way
 * You'll find are strangely few,

While thousands, wiser far than I,
 * Live on just as I do.

"And so I join the crowd, although
 * I like your way the best;

But 'tis so hard to face the world—
 * Its ridicule and jest—

To know they write you down as 'odd,'
 * 'Strong-minded,' 'queerly-dressed."

So Martha turned to her machine,
 * And straightened cloth and thread,

Then off, through weary lengths of seam
 * The shining needle sped;

While Mary, out beneath the trees,
 * Gleaned happy thoughts instead.