A Certain Portion Of The Human Race

Peace And Rest At Length Have Come, All The Day's Long Toil Is Past; And Each Heart Is Whispering, "home, Home At Last!"

It Was Not In The Winter Our Loving Lot Was Cast! It Was The Time Of Roses, We Plucked Them As We Passed!

Tis Like The Birthday Of The World, When Earth Was Born In Bloom; The Light Is Made Of Many Dyes, The Air Is All Perfume: There's Crimson Buds, And White And Blue, The Very Rainbow Showers Have Turned To Blossoms Where They Fell, And Sown The Earth With Flowers.

Well For The Drones Of The Social Hive That There Are Bees Of An Industrious Turn, Willing, For An Infinitesimal Share Of The Honey, To Undertake The Labor Of Its Fabrication.

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.