In all the story of the world of man,

Who blazed the way to greater, better things?

Who stopped the long migration of wild men,

And set the noble task of building human homes?

The learned recluse? The forum teacher?

The poet-singer? The soldier, voyager,

Or ruler? ’T was none of this proud line.

The man who digged the ground foretold the destiny

Of men. ’T was he made anchor for the heart;

Gave meaning to the hearthstone, and the birthplace,

And planted vine and figtree at the door.

He made e’en nations possible. Aye, when

With his stone axe he made a hoe, he carved,

Unwittingly, the scepter of the world.

The steps by which the multitudes have climbed

Were all rough-hewn by this base implement.

In its rude path have followed all the minor

Arts of men. Hark back along the centuries,

And hear its march across the continents.

From zone to zone, all ’round the bounteous world,

The man whose skill makes rich the barren field

And causes grass to grow, and flowers to blow,

And fruits to ripen, and grain turn to gold—

That man is King! Long live the King!

—Mrs. J. K. Hudson.