E. C. CulbertsonIs it true, Spoon River,That in the hall—way of the New Court HouseThere is a tablet of bronzeContaining the embossed facesOf Editor Whedon and Thomas Rhodes?And is it true that my successful laborsIn the County Board, without whichNot one stone would have been placed on another,And the contributions out of my own pocketTo build the temple, are but memories among the people,Gradually fading away, and soon to descendWith them to this oblivion where I lie?In truth, I can so believe.For it is a law of the Kingdom of HeavenThat whoso enters the vineyard at the eleventh hourShall receive a full day’s pay.And it is a law of the Kingdom of this WorldThat those who first oppose a good workSeize it and make it their own,When the corner—stone is laid,And memorial tablets are erected.
Is it true, Spoon River,That in the hall—way of the New Court HouseThere is a tablet of bronzeContaining the embossed facesOf Editor Whedon and Thomas Rhodes?And is it true that my successful laborsIn the County Board, without whichNot one stone would have been placed on another,And the contributions out of my own pocketTo build the temple, are but memories among the people,Gradually fading away, and soon to descendWith them to this oblivion where I lie?In truth, I can so believe.For it is a law of the Kingdom of HeavenThat whoso enters the vineyard at the eleventh hourShall receive a full day’s pay.And it is a law of the Kingdom of this WorldThat those who first oppose a good workSeize it and make it their own,When the corner—stone is laid,And memorial tablets are erected.