Poem November 14, 1901 Issue

Only a Leaf

BY WATSON V. BABBITT.

ONLY a leaf. Its work was done
As it fluttered down in the July sun
To find its rest on the hard-burned ground
Rest in early grave.
"Only a leaf," the south wind sighed,
"Dust to dust to be multiplied
With the mortal all."
"With the many leaves on one great tree
Who 'mid that throng will e'er miss me?
I am only a leaf," it sighed.
Poor little leaf! You may never know
How on a June day, from the sun's hot glow,
You sheltered the head of a songster small,
From whose tiny throat went forth to all
Praises to God, and promise of rain
To the great perched Earth.
And so, poor toiler, as you work below
Striving and striving 'neath the sun's hot glow,
'Mid envy, strife, and despair,
All unconscious, somehow, somewhere
You are sheltering God's idea there;
Work on! work on, 'mid the world's hot rays,
Unmoved alike by censure or praise,
Willing to wait 'till the setting sun
To hear from the Master his sweet, "Well done!"