Economy 4

MAN OF THE SOIL

He needs the soil as sculptors need their stone It is his life. Upon its face he stands

and looks with pride and love at what his hands Have wrought.

Down to the marrow of his bones

That land is born in him. Not quest for wealth Nor fame nor power has given him this need

But love of earth, and of each mighty seed

He raised from birth to firm and glowing health. He guards his lands and treats its hurts and ills . . . He blesses sunlight and warm healing rain

And through the years, his love is not in vain,

For earth rewards him and his hope fulfils.

He stands and gazes out upon his fields

And glories in the richness of the earth

Humble he feels before its mighty worth

And thankful for the bounty ofits yields

With knowing hands he feels the warmth of earth; His fingers knows the temper of the soil,

His body gives the sweat of willing toil

To ease the land’s long laboring of birth.

He sees the infant seedling crops grow tall

And straight and strong to each fulfilled design. He guides the soils lifeline with art as fine

As any painter . . . his is a master’s call.

His gentle hands, when days of warmth are gone, Lull earth to sleep through restful wintry days His heart knows the myriad mystic ways

As birth anew and waits another dawn.

He has not been alone upon the sod.

In tiring hours where there is much to do,

With humble heart, he talks his problems through With one who cares — he walks and talks with GOD.

Marion Benedict Maxwell

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