RICH days there are when wisdom, love, and dream
Leave their high heaven and close beside us keep,
With comrade-steps, from dawn to happy sleep;
When golden lights on paths familiar gleam,
And life's strong river leaps, a singing stream,
Through countless wonders toward a mystic deep;
When every field has gold for thought to reap,
And faint and far life's wintry troubles seem.
This wheat of gladness garner, oh my heart;
With songs of gladness bring the harvest home
And under sheltering eaves its bounty store,–
Then, when the snows drift deep about your door
And grey wolf-winds through desolate woodlands roam,
To all who need, the magic hoard impart.