"No glimmer of light (I sighed) appears; I SAW a man, by some accounted wise, The Moslem's Fate and the Buddhist's For some things said and done before fears their eyes, Come, here is work-and a rank fieldbegin. But what and where are we? what now Put thou thine edge to the great weeds -to-day? of sin; So shalt thou find the use of life, and see | To make me own this hind of princes Thy Lord, at set of sun, Approach and say, "Well done!" This at the last: They clutch the sapless fruit, Ashes and dust of the Dead Sea, who suit Their course of life to compass happiness; That, to be greatly good, TOM TAYLOR. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. (From "THE LONDON PUNCH.") You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier, You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, Broad for the self-complacent British sneer, His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face. His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair, His garbuncouth, his bearing ill at ease, His lack of all we prize as debonair, Of power or will to shine, of art to please. You, whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh, Judging each step, as though the way were plain; Reckless, so it could point its paragraph, Of chief's perplexity or people's pain. peer, Beside this corpse, that bears for wind- The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, ing-sheet The iron bark that turns the lumberers |