Holds in its close shut hand___
What wave of joy, what whelming tide of sorrow,
May flood my heart's dry land.
But whether laughter, with its bounding billow,
Rolls up in joyous swell,
Or sorrow darkly flows beneath the willow,
I still will say, 'tis well.
And I will strew my seed upon the waters,___
The sweet soil lies below,___
Whether with smiles or tears it little matters,
So it may spring and grow.
I know my hand may never reap its sowing;
And yet some other may.
And I may never even see it growing___
So short is my little day!
Still must I sow. Though I may go forth weeping,
I cannot, dare not stay.
God grant a harvest! [hough I may be sleeping
Under the shadows gray.
I know not,but the ruthless frosts may wither,
The worms may eat my rose;
There may not be one flower or sheaf to gather.
Blindly I wait___God knows.
__Ellen P. Allerton.
Walls of Corn and Other Poems
Ellen P. Allerton
(Hiawatha, KS: Harrington Printing Company. 1894)