Behold The Life At Ease; It Drifts,

Caricature Is Rough Truth.

For Singing Till His Heaven Fills, 'tis Love Of Earth That He Instills, And Ever Winging Up And Up, Our Valley Is His Golden Cup, And He The Wine Which Over Flows To Lift Us With Him As He Goes.

The Song Seraphically Free Of Taint Of Personality, So Pure That It Salutes The Suns The Voice Of One For Millions, In Whom The Millions Rejoice For Giving Their One Spirit Voice.

And If I Drink Oblivion Of A Day, / So Shorten I The Stature Of My Soul.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars. Oh, Wisdom Never Comes When It Is Gold, And The Great Price We Paid For It Full Worth: We Have It Only When We Are Half Earth. Little Avails That Coinage To The Old!