The joy is in the making. While we sow
Our dream is wonderful with flowers, we name
The purlieus of our garden and the aim
Is worth the effort, yet we cannot know
The garden will be just a garden, so
The dream is heaven. This way mothers frame
The child's high dedication to its fame,
Repaid for all reality may show.
God knows this, so He lets us have the best,
The vast anticipation, rugged man
Joys in the struggle, triumphs over throes,
Vanquished a thousand times he still finds zest
In hope and all his pleasure in a plan
To be fulfilled at length in Heaven?— who knows.