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For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,
Men granted that his speech was wise,
Of his slim grace and woman's eyes,
They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.
Yet after he was dead and gone,
And e'en his memory dim,
And day by day more holy grew
Till after-poets only knew
Ir is a mere wild rosebud,
Quite sallow now, and dry,
Lips must fade and roses wither,
All sweet times be o'er,
They only smile, and, murmuring "Thither!"
Stay with us no more:
And yet ofttimes a look or smile,
Years after from the dark will start,
Thou hast given me many roses,
But never one, like this, O'erfloods both sense and spirit
With such a deep, wild bliss; We must have instincts that glean up Sparse drops of this life in the cup, Whose taste shall give us all that we Can prove of immortality.
Earth's stablest things are shadows,
May tell of this old home :
As now sometimes we seem to find,
In a dark crevice of the mind,
Some relic, which, long pondered o'er, Hints faintly at a life before.
AN INCIDENT IN A RAILROAD CAR.
He spoke of Burns: men rude and rough Pressed round to hear the praise of one Whose heart was made of manly, simple stuff,
As homespun as their own.
And, when he read, they forward leaned,
His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned
Slowly there grew a tender awe,
As if in him who read they felt and saw
It was a sight for sin and wrong
I thought, these men will carry hence
And something of a finer reverence
God scatters love on every side,
And always hearts are lying open wide,
There is no wind but soweth seeds
Which burst, unlooked-for, into high-souled deeds,
With wayside beauty rife.