Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/54

52 So easy ’tis to rhyme… yet stay! Oh, terrible misgiving! Please do not give the game away… I’ve got to make my living.

, May 1914.

Another day of toll and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain To make of as I may, That done, I shall not see again Until the Judgment Day.

Ah, could I, could I backward turn The pages of that Book, How often would I blench and burn! How often loathe to look! What pages would be meanly scrolled; What smeared as if with mud; A few, maybe, might gleam like gold, Some scarlet seem as blood.

O Record grave, God guide my hand And make me worthy be,