And knows a hand hath turned the team astray. He hath no pity. For the new-made Bride, ENVOY. YOUTH, for whose ear and monishing of late, Have thou thy joy of living and be gay; But know not less that there must come a day, Aye, and perchance e'en now it hasteneth,— When thine own heart shall speak to thee and say,There is no king more terrible than Death. When Finis comes, the Book we close, The thorn lies thicker than the rose! There is so much that no one knows,- Still, they must pass! The swift Tide flows. Though not for all the laurel grows, Perchance, in this be-slandered age, The worker, mainly, wins his wage;And Time will sweep both friends and foes When FINIS comes! BY THE SAME AUTHOR. In preparation. AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE. A COLLECTION OF VERSES, Not hitherto reprinted. |