Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/127

 The morning stars are singing still, To crown, to challenge, and to kill; And if perforce there falls a voice On pious ears that have no choice Except to urge an erring hand To wreak its homage on the land, Who of us that is worth his while Will, if he listen, more than smile?

Who of us, being what he is, May scoff at others' ecstasies? However we may shine to-day, More-shining ones are on the way; And so it were not wholly well To be at odds with Azrael,— Nor were it kind of any one To sing the end of Atherton.