Toll

ONE fashions beauty into form, to shapes most wondrous fair; There comes a stranger to his door and claims an equal share Another plants the seed and sees the harvest spring—that day Comes one whose face he does not know, and takes a third away. A little child, whose plaintive mouth has never learned to laugh, Sits stringing beads—to her appears the man who claims his half. A woman with her needle sits—and one stitch out of three She takes for him whose face perhaps her eyes shall never see. And where the mighty merchant ships in the great harbors wait— His is the service of the crews and his the share of freight. And who is he, who walks abroad in all his pomp and pride, Who takes his toll, and nothing gives, and will not be denied? A wondrous miracle is he—but not of God because, He can be banished as he came—by simple change of laws. The laws that give to manikin dominion of the sod, Appareled him in majesty, and made him as a god. Oh, sad the tale and grim the tale, that now is almost told, And but a little while, and then—the stupid drama’s old! But strange we’ll seem to future times, with our fantastic tricks, Who worshiped God one day in seven and cheated Him in six! Joseph Dana Miller.