UNDER the pear trees one August day,
In the long-ago and the far-away,
Four little children rested from play,
Cheering the hours with childish chat,
Now laughing at this or shouting at that,
Till a golden pear fell straight in Fred’s hat.
“I’m lucky,” he cried as he hastened to eat
The mellow pear so juicy and sweet;
“If I tried for a week, that couldn’t be beat.”
Then Tom and Jenny and Mary spread
Their hats and aprons wide, and said,
“We can catch pears as well as Fred.”
Then long and patient they sat, and still,
Hoping a breeze from over the hill
Their laps with the golden fruit would fill.
Till, weary of waiting, Tom said with a sneer,
“I could gather a
bushel of pears, ’tis clear,
While idly we
wait for a windfall here.”
Then up the tree he sprang, and the power
Of his sturdy arm soon sent a shower
Of yellow fruit as a golden dower.
It was long ago, that August day
When four little children rested from play
Under the pear trees far away.
And the children, older and wiser now,
With furrows of care on either brow,
Have not forgotten the lesson, I trow—
The lesson they learned on that August day,
That for having our wishes the surest
work, and in earnest, without