Part 20 (1/2)

In life's long run less harm has done Because he is so rare; And one can be so stern with him, Can make the monster shrink; But, lack a day, what can we say To whining 'Didn't think'?

This most unpleasant imp of strife Pursues us everywhere.

There's scarcely one whole day of life He does not cause us care; Small woes and great he brings the world, Strong s.h.i.+ps are forced to sink, And trains from iron track are hurled, alack, By stupid 'Didn't think.'

When brain is comrade to the heart, And heart from soul draws grace, 'I didn't think will quick depart For lack of resting-place.

If from that great, unselfish stream, The Golden Rule we drink, We'll keep G.o.d's laws, and have no cause To say 'I didn't think.'

A BURIAL

To-day I had a burial of my dead.

There was no shroud, no coffin, and no pall, No prayers were uttered and no tears were shed-- I only turned a picture to the wall.

A picture that had hung within my room For years and years; a relic of my youth.

It kept the rose of love in constant bloom To see those eyes of earnestness and truth.

At hours wherein no other dared intrude, I had drawn comfort from its smiling grace.

Silent companion of my solitude, My soul held sweet communion with that face.

I lived again the dream so bright, so brief, Though wakened as we all are by some Fate; This picture gave me infinite relief, And did not leave me wholly desolate.

To-day I saw an item, quite by chance, That robbed me of my pitiful poor dole: A marriage notice fell beneath my glance, And I became a lonely widowed soul.

With drooping eyes, and cheeks a burning flame, I turned the picture to the blank wall's gloom.

My very heart had died in me of shame, If I had left it smiling in my room.

Another woman's husband. So, my friend, My comfort, my sole relic of the past, I bury thee, and, lonely, seek the end.

Swift age has swept my youth from me at last.

THEIR FACES

O Beautiful white Angels! who control The inner workings of each poet soul, Thou who hast touched my mind with tender graces Come near to me that I may see thy faces.

Me, didst thou bless before I came to earth; Me, hast thou kissed, and dowered at my birth, With such a wealth of sweet imaginings, That, even in sleep, my dreaming fancy sings.

Sometimes when seeing snow-white clouds at noon, Or watching silver shadows from the moon, Within my soul has stirred a joy like fear, As if some kindred spirit lingered near.

Come closer, Angels! thou whose haloed wings Do gild for me the meanest ways and things, With beauty borrowed from the Infinite-- Stand forth, let me behold thee in the light.

O thought supreme! O death! O life! unknown I shall not solve thy mystery alone.

The angels who have kissed me at my birth Shall take again my soul when done with earth, And as we soar through vast, star-lighted s.p.a.ces, At last, at last I shall behold their faces.

THE LULLABY