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MY first is black and white and blue and red, ’T is yellow, yes, and sometimes it is gray; ’T is high and low, ’t is restless and ’t is dead, ’T is writ for us to read and sing and play. My last is greeted with delight and dread, The farmer’s solace and the farmer’s bane; Trod by his feet, yet worn upon his head, Refreshed and ruined by a drenching rain. My whole lay deep beneath the waves, they said, But bravely rescued from the billow’s roll, Though dripping wet upon the sands outspread, With gladness and delight I pressed my whole.