Young Alchemists

I was but one of ten young alchemists

Who blended toil with laughter into play;

Who always held their April beauty-trysts

With violets and drank from the Milky-Way;

Who knew how straight and tall a pine could grow

Upon a sloping hill through reaching high;

Who often rose at dawn to stand tiptoe

Upon a youthful dream to touch the sky;

Who knelt around the circled chairs at night

And talked with God; in morning knelt again,

Then labored joyously within His light

And found Him in the fields of grain. These ten

Now silver-haired and far from homestead sod,

Still hold a rendezvous with joy and God.