POETRY.
COMPENSATION.
IT was the time of Autumn, When leaves are turning brown,— Green to yellow and pied and black ; And some were tumbling down.
It was the time of Autumn, When fruits are gathered in, Some for the press, some for the vat, And some for the miller's bin.
Then poor men fell a-playing, For that their work was o'er ; And rich men fell a-sighing, That they could play no more.
For the Summer-time is a merry time, If a man have leisure to play ; But the summer-time is a weary time, To him who must work all day.
Then thanks to God the Giver, Who loves both great and small ; To every one He something gives, But to no man gives all. The rich who careth for himself Finds, after pleasure, pain ; But the toiler whom God careth for Rests, and is glad again. B.
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