When from their rough
hands
Fair and worthy love
arouses
A forest of cities
stands
Plenty of sweet houses
Immensity of fresh aroma
Any moment is well felt
From Washington to
Oklahoma
From where homelessness
has left
From California to Maine
A garden of wooden
homesteads
Adorns the sites, single
or main
Where Christ's abodes
are heads
From dawn to dusk,
golden to violet
Like a troupe of hasty
ants
As the hammer or scoop
they did get
They enrich all the holy
lands
But like a troupe of
bees, rather
Without either queen or
king
But like sons after a
father
They build and they sing
Sprouts thus a commonwealth
Arisen from the public
wishes
With castles of endless
health
As a timely garden
flourishes.
