The Cream

You can stir the milk till it foams like mad,

     Until you are ready to drop,

You can put it away at the close of day

And you will find in the morning gray

     The cream has come to the top,

You can stir the pool to its muddy depths,

     Till it’s not but a roily slop;

E’en the little pool black by the wagon track,

Or the ocean wild with its seethe and wrack,

     The cream will come to the top.

You can take a man, or a set of men,

     A good, bad or indifferent crop;

You can place them in the byways of sin,

In the roil of trade with its roar and din,

     The cream will come to the top.

So it’s up to you and it’s up to me,

     To push on and never stop;

If we stick and toil in the mart or soil

And hold aloof from the idling foil*                            

     We’re certain to come to the top.

April 27, 1913

(*could be ‘boil’ or ‘broil’?)