Volume 51 — SONNET.

Our life is one long poem. In our youth We rise and sing a noble epic song, A trumpet note of sound both clear and strong, With idyls now and then too sweet for truth. A lyric of lament, it swells along The tide of years, a protest 'gainst the wrong Of life, an unavailing cry for ruth, A wish to know the end—the end forsooth! 'Tis not on earth. The end which makes or mars The song of life, we who sing seldom know. That end is where, beyond the pale fair stars Which have looked down so calmly on our woe, Eternal music will set right the jars Of all that sounds so harsh and sad below.