CONTRASTED MOODS.

WANT. Where is the power I fancied mine? Can I have emptied my soul of thought? In yesterday's fullness lay no sign That to-day would be a time of drought. What if thought fail me for evermore? The world that awaits a well-filled plan Must, railing, cry at my long-closed door, "He cannot finish what he began." PLENTY. Thought dashes on thought within my soul: Time will not serve for the bounding-line. I think it would fail to mete the whole If old Methuselah's years were mine. Like the famous spring that is sometimes dry, Then flows with a river's whelming might, The current of thought now runs so high It covers the earthy bed from sight.