Bot 'tis more a'W'fhl to behold
A heJple1111 infant IM~wly bol"''l 1
Wboee ltttle hnnda uneooeeioua hold
The keya of darkneaa aud of morn.Mine held them once; I flung away
Those keya that might ha.ve open eet
The golden sluices of the da.y,
But clutch the keys of darkne1111 yet;
I hear the :reapm~ aingin« go
Into God'a harvest; 1, that might
With them have choeen 1 here below
Grope shuddering at. the ga.te of night.0 glorious Yonth I t·hd once wut mine I
0 high ideal! all in vain
Y e enter at thie ruin'd shrine
Whence worship ne'er ahall rile &gain ;
The bat aud owl inhabit here,
The anake rests in the attar-et.ocae,
The sacred v-la mowder near,
Th.e image of the God il gone.~ !l•alm of J'm.
T.&LL me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life ia but an empty dream I"
For the soul ia dead that slumbers,
And things are not wha.t they seem.Life ia real! Life ia eamest I
And the grave ia not ita ga.l;
"Dust thou art, to duat returneet,"
Waa not apokeo of the aonL
Not enjoyment, and not ao1'1'0w 1
Ia our deatined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find na farther than to-day.
Art is long, t\nd Time is fleeting.
And our hearts, though at.out a.nd brave,
Still, like mu.1Bed druma, are beating
Funeral marches to the grue.
"