Maria L. Eve

“ And watching them play on the cricket-ground.
He was champion once of the country round;
But that brawny lad with the laughing face,
It was plain to see, was filling his place;
And with half a sigh he turned him away,
Saying, "It matters not, it is naught but play."
And he took the road to the old grist-mill,
Where his place, he knew, they could never fill;
For he'd miss him sore, the miller declared,
And his own right hand could be better spared.
The miller had found, on the day he sailed,
A good honest lad, who had never failed.
"Well, all men can work, but all cannot sing. ”