370 



THE IRRIGATION AGE. 



And blade of grass is counted ere its birth, 



Rounding its humble life t?o free per- 

 fection 



Man knows not when a blight may inter- 

 vene 



To chill the aspirations of the soul. 



And from his loving heart pours forth in 

 vain 



Perchance the tenderest emotions; honor- 

 eth truth 



Only to be deceived: and leave behind 

 him 



Only a mournful memory. Tell me. thou 



Whose visions compass this sad destiny, 



Tell me, O Skull, how on bright wings 

 of hope 



I can attain the regions eternal 



Where peace doth reign, and happier 

 thoughts abide! 



But what's the use? 



And tell me this, companion weird and 



mute, 



Why the sweet cherub ey.es of innocence 

 In death are closed, and sinful lives are 



spared 



To soil the world with their impurity. 

 Why, unto those who righteously pursue 

 The path of wisdom, is the way obscured, 

 And from the book of life its lovliest page 

 By vandal fortune rent. Tell me if thou, 

 the past reviewing, dost regret the deeds 

 That marked thy earthly sojourn, or 



lament 

 The loss of that for which thy spirit 



yearned 

 Through years of fruitless longing if the 



guerdon 



Which fond imagination loves to frame 

 Be worth the martyrdom. If all be false, 

 Tell me, O Skull! as thou wert under 



oath, 

 The truth, whole truth, and nothing but 



the truth, 



If these our dreams are only mockery, 

 Then what's the use? 



Thus musing, suddenly a voice I heard. 



Conjured from secret chambers, as it were 



The lapping of dark waves in ocean cav- 

 ern: 



A voice that filled my inmost soul with 

 awe, 



So supernatural was its monotone. 



I looked around me and a shuddering 

 sense 



Of an unearthly presence sealed my speech . 



And as I mused, with death-like prophe- 

 cies 



Of some impending terror lo, the Skull 



Grinned in the placid moonlight as it fell 



O'er ghastly contours, and, where once 

 had beamed 



Eyes of clear lustre, warmed with living 

 thought, 



Loomed the grim sockets as the spectre 

 spake 



"Great nature worketh wisely: not in 

 vain 



Did sh3 create in joy from her deep bosom 



Air, water, flame, and myriad fruits of 

 earth, 



But that her loving largesse might pro- 

 vide 



Meet habitation for the sons of men. 



Of wealth thou pulist, and ephemeral 

 fam 



That dies ere thou canst recognize its face: 

 Know that the sweetest boon vouchsafed 



to man 



Is service unto others; whosoever 

 Shall give to drink, even to a little child, 

 A. cup of water only so the Master 

 Ordains the law of human charity. 

 Earth is thy blest abode, and love thy 



mission; 



'Tis idle to repine and waste thy brain 

 In futile quest of knowledge which from 



thee, 

 While the poor robe of clay remains thy 



vesture, 

 Is wisely veiled. There's not a single 



hour 

 That is not freighted with the power of 



And brings to thee blest opportunity 



To make thy journey richer far than gold 



Or vulgar baubles madly coveted. 



Life is made precious only by good deeds 



Thy wealth thou needst must leave beside 



the tomb. 



Thy kindness and the love of fellow-men 

 Make thee God's almoner, and forever- 

 more 



Shall dwell on earth, a fragrant memory. 

 Yet purblind as thou art, O mortal man, 

 Thy soul is shriveled in the fires of doubt, 

 And from thy soul comes the despairing 

 cry: 



Oh, what's the use?" 



