PART SECOND 



Sleep, death and oblivion are things that mock; 



Sleep in dreams; death and oblivion in the grave; 

 And yet we are not mocked. We only walk 



Amid realities that bind us like a slave. 

 Sleep soothes and cheers; death grimly reaps and slays. 



It makes earth but a tomb its house of revelry ; 

 It stalks amid life's dark and brightest ways 



And takes its victims,. All are 'neath its slavery. 

 With chilling frosts it nips life's brightest flowers, 



And with pale faces and a gasp they go, 

 And vaguely trust to bloom 'neath other bowers, 

 Where death's grim hand will never blast them so. 



