Page:Near nature's heart; a volume of verse (IA nearnaturesheart00jack).pdf/60

 Beholding now thy form and face— Master work of Herera's hands, Done a milennium after thy ascent, A worshipful face toward the Holy Father's, With quill in thy skillful hand, "The City of God" before thee, My soul astir doth soar Toward thine and His. Oft have I gazed and gloried, Imaging thy topless, hallowed heights, From deepest, darkest depths— I too may rise; I will, O God, I will!

O THAT INCOME TAX!

I struggled with mine till the midnight hour; My head was that of a fool; My losses and gains, they're beyond my power, And never the like was, in school.

That minus sign was ever my foe From earliest years until now; My modest income, and varied out-go— O they must be figured somehow!

I'll tell you the truth, in the fear of the Lord, I worried and went "sick abed;" Six pages of puzzles and all a sworn word— "O where," I sighed, "is my head?"

"If married," or "single"—I failed to know: Nor dependent children could tell; For never my mind received such a blow, From such unexpected hell.

I always have cherished my Uncle Sam, And thought he was oftenest right; But flooded I was, nor a single dam To check my downward flight.

Exhausted I slept, nor just or unjust, Resolving the next day to seek aid; For when I awoke 'twas still, "you must Or penalty dire be paid."

To the revenue clerk I took me straight, And behold, as I looked, I heard A lot of fond fools at Uncle Sam's gate, Despairing like a caged bird.

The officer smiled, and I smiled out loud, For misery loves company; And the smiles were like beams that broke the cloud Of impending, rank perjury.