YE WEARIE WAYFARER 



Harshly break those peals of laughter 



From the jays aloft, 

 Can we guess what they cry after, 



We have heard them oft ; 

 Perhaps some strain of rude thanksgiving 



Mingles in their song, 

 Are they glad that they are living ? 



Are they right or wrong ? 

 Right, 'tis joy that makes them call so. 



Why should they be sad ? 

 Certes ! we are living also. 



Shall not we be glad ? 

 Onward ! onward ! must we travel ? 



Is the goal more near? 

 Riddle we may not unravel. 



Why so dark and drear ? 



Yon small bird his hymn outpouring 



On the branch close by, 

 Recks not for the kestrel soaring 



In the nether sky. 

 Though the hawk with wings extended 



Poises overhead, 



Motionless as though suspended 



By a viewless thread. 

 41 



