A Fisherman
A lover of the woods and streams and sky,
The quiet lake 'neath evening's level light
And all of Nature's summer sound and sight,--
Thou look'st upon her with a poet's eye.
And when from drifting boat thou'st cast a fly--
To wait with eager heart for sudden bite
Where all the depths of mystery excite,
Thou still hast joy, though all the fish go by.
And when red summer suns have sunk to rest
And thy true preacher's work has come again,
With tender care thou'rt happy in the quest
Of human souls; and with thy golden pen
Thou searchest for the good in every breast--
Still largely loving all that's best in men!