THERE IS, OH, SO MUCH.

There is oh, so much for a man to be In nineteen hundred and now. He may cover the world like the searching sea In nineteen hundred and now.

He may be of the rush of the city's roar And his song may sing where the condors soar, Or may dip to the dark of Labrador, In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to do In nineteen hundred and now. He may sort the suns of Andromeda through In nineteen hundred and now.

Or he may strive, as a good man must, For the wretch at his feet who licks the dust, And never learn how to be even just In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to learn In nineteen hundred and now: The least and the most he should trouble to earn In nineteen hundred and now,

The message burned bright on the heavenly scroll, The little he needs that his stomach be whole, The vastness of vision to sate his soul, In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to get In nineteen hundred and now. He may drench the earth in vicarious sweat In nineteen hundred and now.

And his wealth may be but a lifelong itch, While the lowliest digger within his ditch May have gained the little to make him rich In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to try In nineteen hundred and now. The sea is so deep and the hill so high In nineteen hundred and now.

But sometimes we look at our little ball Where the smallest is great and the greatest small And wonder the why and the what of it all In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much, so we work as we may In nineteen hundred and now, And loiter a little along the way In nineteen hundred and now.

O, the honeybee works, but the honeybee clings To the flowers of life and the honeybee sings! Let us eat the sweet and forget the stings In nineteen hundred and now!