SONG FOR THE FLAIL.
A song for the flail, the smooth-handled flail,
As stroke after stroke it comes down;
While golden grains fly, wheat, barley, and rye,
The toil of the farmer to crown.
As stroke after stroke it comes down;
While golden grains fly, wheat, barley, and rye,
The toil of the farmer to crown.
The useful and useless he thus will divide,
And gathering each in their turn,
The former with care, for the garner he'll spare,
The latter he'll scatter or barn.
And gathering each in their turn,
The former with care, for the garner he'll spare,
The latter he'll scatter or barn.
And what is earth more than a grand threshing-floor,
With the wrong and the right thickly strewn?
But Truth's iron flail them both shall assail,
To the winds then shall Falsehood be thrown.
With the wrong and the right thickly strewn?
But Truth's iron flail them both shall assail,
To the winds then shall Falsehood be thrown.
Should Adversity's flail thy spirit assail,
Bid welcome the Love-guided blow;
Be every stroke heeded, not one falls unneeded,
Our idols to shatter, our pride to lay low.
Bid welcome the Love-guided blow;
Be every stroke heeded, not one falls unneeded,
Our idols to shatter, our pride to lay low.
