THE COURSE OF CULTURE.[133]Surveythe world, through every zone,From Lima to Japan,In lineaments of light ’tis shownThatCULTUREmakes the man.By manual culture one attainsWhat industry may claim,Another’s mental toil and painsAttenuate his frame.Some plough and plant the teeming soilSome cultivate the arts;And some devote a life of toilTo tilling heads and hearts.Some train the adolescent mind,While buds of promise blow,And see each nascent twig inclinedThe way the tree should grow.The first man, and the first of men,Were tillers of the soil;And that was mercy’s mandate then,Which destined man to moil.Indulgence preludes fell attacksOf merciless disease,And sloth extends on fiery racksHer listless devotees.Hail,Horticulture! Heaven-ordained,Of every art the source,Which man has polished, life sustained,Since time commenced his course.Where waves thy wonder-working wandWhat splendid scenes disclose!The blasted heath, the arid strand,Out-bloom the gorgeous rose!Even in theSERAPH-SEXis thyMunificence described;And Milton says in lady’s eyeIs Heaven identified.A seedling, sprung from Adam’s side,A most celestial shoot!Became of Paradise the pride,And bore a world of fruit.The lily, rose, carnation, blentBy Flora’s magic power,And tulip, feebly representSo elegant a flower:Then surely, bachelors, ye oughtIn season to transferSome sprig of this sweet “TOUCH-ME-NOT,”To grace your own parterre;And every gardener should be proud,With tenderness and skill,If haply he may be allowedThis precious plant to till.All that man has, had, hopes, can have,Past, promised, or possessed,Are fruits whichCULTUREgives or gaveAtINDUSTRY’Sbehest.
Surveythe world, through every zone,From Lima to Japan,In lineaments of light ’tis shownThatCULTUREmakes the man.By manual culture one attainsWhat industry may claim,Another’s mental toil and painsAttenuate his frame.Some plough and plant the teeming soilSome cultivate the arts;And some devote a life of toilTo tilling heads and hearts.Some train the adolescent mind,While buds of promise blow,And see each nascent twig inclinedThe way the tree should grow.The first man, and the first of men,Were tillers of the soil;And that was mercy’s mandate then,Which destined man to moil.Indulgence preludes fell attacksOf merciless disease,And sloth extends on fiery racksHer listless devotees.Hail,Horticulture! Heaven-ordained,Of every art the source,Which man has polished, life sustained,Since time commenced his course.Where waves thy wonder-working wandWhat splendid scenes disclose!The blasted heath, the arid strand,Out-bloom the gorgeous rose!Even in theSERAPH-SEXis thyMunificence described;And Milton says in lady’s eyeIs Heaven identified.A seedling, sprung from Adam’s side,A most celestial shoot!Became of Paradise the pride,And bore a world of fruit.The lily, rose, carnation, blentBy Flora’s magic power,And tulip, feebly representSo elegant a flower:Then surely, bachelors, ye oughtIn season to transferSome sprig of this sweet “TOUCH-ME-NOT,”To grace your own parterre;And every gardener should be proud,With tenderness and skill,If haply he may be allowedThis precious plant to till.All that man has, had, hopes, can have,Past, promised, or possessed,Are fruits whichCULTUREgives or gaveAtINDUSTRY’Sbehest.
Surveythe world, through every zone,From Lima to Japan,In lineaments of light ’tis shownThatCULTUREmakes the man.By manual culture one attainsWhat industry may claim,Another’s mental toil and painsAttenuate his frame.
Surveythe world, through every zone,
From Lima to Japan,
In lineaments of light ’tis shown
ThatCULTUREmakes the man.
By manual culture one attains
What industry may claim,
Another’s mental toil and pains
Attenuate his frame.
Some plough and plant the teeming soilSome cultivate the arts;And some devote a life of toilTo tilling heads and hearts.Some train the adolescent mind,While buds of promise blow,And see each nascent twig inclinedThe way the tree should grow.
Some plough and plant the teeming soil
Some cultivate the arts;
And some devote a life of toil
To tilling heads and hearts.
Some train the adolescent mind,
While buds of promise blow,
And see each nascent twig inclined
The way the tree should grow.
The first man, and the first of men,Were tillers of the soil;And that was mercy’s mandate then,Which destined man to moil.Indulgence preludes fell attacksOf merciless disease,And sloth extends on fiery racksHer listless devotees.
The first man, and the first of men,
Were tillers of the soil;
And that was mercy’s mandate then,
Which destined man to moil.
Indulgence preludes fell attacks
Of merciless disease,
And sloth extends on fiery racks
Her listless devotees.
Hail,Horticulture! Heaven-ordained,Of every art the source,Which man has polished, life sustained,Since time commenced his course.Where waves thy wonder-working wandWhat splendid scenes disclose!The blasted heath, the arid strand,Out-bloom the gorgeous rose!
Hail,Horticulture! Heaven-ordained,
Of every art the source,
Which man has polished, life sustained,
Since time commenced his course.
Where waves thy wonder-working wand
What splendid scenes disclose!
The blasted heath, the arid strand,
Out-bloom the gorgeous rose!
Even in theSERAPH-SEXis thyMunificence described;And Milton says in lady’s eyeIs Heaven identified.A seedling, sprung from Adam’s side,A most celestial shoot!Became of Paradise the pride,And bore a world of fruit.
Even in theSERAPH-SEXis thy
Munificence described;
And Milton says in lady’s eye
Is Heaven identified.
A seedling, sprung from Adam’s side,
A most celestial shoot!
Became of Paradise the pride,
And bore a world of fruit.
The lily, rose, carnation, blentBy Flora’s magic power,And tulip, feebly representSo elegant a flower:Then surely, bachelors, ye oughtIn season to transferSome sprig of this sweet “TOUCH-ME-NOT,”To grace your own parterre;
The lily, rose, carnation, blent
By Flora’s magic power,
And tulip, feebly represent
So elegant a flower:
Then surely, bachelors, ye ought
In season to transfer
Some sprig of this sweet “TOUCH-ME-NOT,”
To grace your own parterre;
And every gardener should be proud,With tenderness and skill,If haply he may be allowedThis precious plant to till.All that man has, had, hopes, can have,Past, promised, or possessed,Are fruits whichCULTUREgives or gaveAtINDUSTRY’Sbehest.
And every gardener should be proud,
With tenderness and skill,
If haply he may be allowed
This precious plant to till.
All that man has, had, hopes, can have,
Past, promised, or possessed,
Are fruits whichCULTUREgives or gave
AtINDUSTRY’Sbehest.