Part 22 (1/2)
The royal feast was done; the King Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried: ”Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!”
The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore.
He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch's silken stool; His pleading voice arose: ”O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!
”No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool; The rod must heal the sin: but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!
”'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; 'Tis by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away.
”These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crus.h.i.+ng blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend.
”The ill-timed truth we might have kept-- Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
The word we had not sense to say-- Who knows how grandly it had rung?
”Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders--oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall.
”Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will; but Thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!”
The room was hushed; in silence rose The King, and sought his gardens cool, And walked apart, and murmured low, ”Be merciful to me, a fool!”
E.R. SILL.
On The Life-mask Of Abraham Lincoln.
This bronze doth keep the very form and mold Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he: That brow all wisdom, all benignity; That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold; That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea For storms to beat on; the lone agony Those silent, patient lips too well foretold.
Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men As might some prophet of the elder day,-- Brooding above the tempest and the fray With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken.
A power was his beyond the touch of art Or armed strength: his pure and mighty heart.
R.W. GILDER.
Song.
Years have flown since I knew thee first, And I know thee as water is known of thirst: Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight, And thou art strange to me, Love, to-night.
R.W. GILDER.
To A Dead Woman.[7]
Not a kiss in life; but one kiss, at life's end, I have set on the face of Death in trust for thee.