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!