That's The Wise Thrush; He

You Should Not Take A Fellow Eight Years Old And Make Him Swear To Never Kiss The Girls.

Mid The Sharp, Short Emerald Wheat, Scarce Risen Three Fingers Well, The Wild Tulip At The End Of Its Tube, Blows Out Its Great Red Bell, Like A Thin Clear Bubble Of Blood, For The Children To Pick And Sell.

If You Can Sit At Set Of Sun And Count The Deeds That You Have Done And Counting Find Oneself-denying Act, One Word That Eased The Heart Of Him That Heard. One Glance Most Kind, Which Fell Like Sunshine Where He Went, Then You May Count That Day Well Spent.

Let Friend Trust Friends, And Love Demand Love's Like.

God's Justice, Tardy Though It Prove Perchance, Rests Never On The Track Until It Reach Delinquency.