Volume 2 — The Jesters.
Reading edition
By MARION COUTHOUY SMITH.
Ev'n he, the master of the songs of life,
May speak at times with less than certain sound—
"He jests at scars who never felt a wound."
So runs his word! Yet on the verge of strife,
They jest not who have never known the knife;
They tremble who in the waiting ranks are found,
While those scarred deep on many a battle-ground
Sing to the throbbing of the drum and fife.
They laugh who know the open, fearless breast,
The thrust, the steel-point, and the spreading stain;
Whose flesh is hardened to the searing test,
Whose souls are tempered to a high disdain.
Theirs is the lifted brow, the gallant jest,
The long last breath, that holds a victor-strain.