Poems (Cary)/The Workers

​
THE WORKERS.
Who are seers and who are sages?
 They who know and understand—
Not the sphinxes of old ages,
 With their dead eyes in the sand.

Every worm beside you creeping,
 Every insect flying well,
Every pebble in earth's keeping,
 Has a history to tell.

The small, homely flower that's lying
 In your pathway, may contain
Some elixir, which the dying
 Generations sought in vain.

In the stone that waits the turning
 Of some curious hand, from sight
Fiery atoms may be burning,
 That would fill the world with light.

Let us then, in reverence bowing,
 Honor most of all mankind,
Such as keep their great thoughts plowing
 Deepest in the field of mind.

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.