YOUR MART AND MINE by MABEL A. HANSON

I wish I could sing of the cities,
The stern market-places of men,
Where the rhythm of life
Is a massing of gold
Or a struggle of keeping up life and abode;
Where the clang and the bang
And the lasting roar
Of building, of iron, of cargoes, and men
Ever onward and forward rush madly—
And then. ...

I find that I know but the country
Of stillness, of stars, and of dew,
Green grasses and flowers,
White clearness of morn,
Tall trees against sunsets,
And rows of gold corn;
And the bright bending grain,
With the brooks that sing by.
Or the pond that reflects
The fair blueness of sky.
But. ...

I wish I could sing of the city
All moiling with work and with strife,
Where the faces reflect
Each own life as it's led
Like the pond that reflects
The clouds changing overhead;
For as varying as they
Are the faces of men
In the grim-toil, or brain-worn,
Or heart-broken mass,
With a joyous few, living—just letting time pass.
Oh. ...

I know not the city or country,
Nor the hearts of the masses of men;
But I wish I could sing them
A song of good cheer
To give them the knowledge
That all through the year
Their place is the greatest, the noblest to fill
In shop, or in office, or wide-sloping hill.

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