Let Us Be Merciful As Well As

'twas Easter-sunday. The Full-blossomed Trees Filled All The Air With Fragrance And With Joy.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.

Nor Deem The Irrevocable Past As Wholly Wasted, Wholly Vain, If, Rising On Its Wrecks, At Last To Something Nobler We Attain.

So Nature Deals With Us, And Takes Away Our Playthings One By One, And By The Hand Leads Us To Rest.

Day, Like A Weary Pilgrim, Had Reached The Western Gate Of Heaven, And Evening Stooped Down To Unloose The Latchets Of His Sandal Shoon.