Page:The torrent and The night before.djvu/42

 Too lovingly triumphant, and too large; But there are some that hear him, and they know That he shall sing to-morrow for all men, And that all time shall listen.

The master-songs are ended?—Rather say No songs are ended that are ever sung, And that no names are dead names. When we write Men's letters on proud marble or on sand, We write them there forever.

KOSMOS , shuddering men that falter and shrink so To look on death,—what were the days we live, Where life is half a struggle to forgive, But for the love that finds us when we go? Is God a jester?—Does he laugh and throw Poor branded wretches here to sweat and strive For some vague end that never shall arrive?— And is He not yet weary of the show?

Think of it, all ye millions that have planned, And only planned, the largess of hard youth! Think of it, all ye builders on the sand, Whose works are down!—Is love so small, forsooth? Be brave! To-morrow you will understand The doubt, the pain, the triumph, and the Truth!

AN OLD STORY that I did not know him then, That friend of mine!— I did not even show him then One friendly sign;

But cursed him for the ways he had To make me see My envy of the praise he had For praising me.