OFT POISONED IS THE WINE OF LIFE.

Socrates drank of the hemlock;— Others drink of poisons deadly.— Poison as a draught of hemlock Will unrequited love aye be. And ingratitude of loved ones Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is, And misunderstandings cruel That ever meet us on Life’s way. Often we are greeted coldly, By the ones who should be friendly. We may fall, and we may falter. Life’s battles we may never win. Others soon will take our places. Take the love, and take the friendship, Which was ours by laws most holy, And love is now but in the name. Hemlock would not be as poisonous, Nor would be so hard its taking. As cold words of bitter taunting From trusted friends whom we have loved. Faithless friends may give a chalice, Filled with poison just as deadly, As the hemlock which was drunken By Socrates in that long past. Every day we meet deception From some one we loved, and trusted. Poison may be in each vessel From which we drink the wine of Life.