Page:The Granite Monthly Volume 2.djvu/29

"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.