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POEMS.
In chill roof chambers, bleak and bare,Or the damp cellar's stifling air,She who now sees, in mute despair,  Her children pine for food,Shall feel the dews of gladness startTo lids long tearless, and shall partThe sweet loaf, with a grateful heart,  Among her thin, pale brood.Dear, kindly Earth, whose breast we till!Oh, for thy famished children, fill,  Where'er the sower walks,Fill the rich ours that shade the mouldWith grain for grain, a hundredfold, To bend the sturdy stalks.VIII.Strew silently the fruitful seed, As softly o'er the tilth yo tread,For hands that delicately knead The consecrated bread.
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