Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1875-09-30
THE MAKTYRED PRESIDENTS
FAVORITE POEM.

{The following lines, corrected by the most anthem
tic records. were first published in Western newspa-
per- some forty years ago, and have occasionally been
rcpubishcd since. Their authorship is unknown. In
point of syllable measure and rythm they are some
what rude but, great moral lesson, sermon
for all time free from the taint Of creed they are i'm
mcasurably superior to any of the one sided and stale
platitudcs dolcd out from the pulpit
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like tast-hitting meteor, a fast-fying cloud,
A flash of the lightning break OF the wave,
lie passeth from life to his rest III the grave
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
BE scattered around and together be laid
And the young and the DID, and the low and the high,
Shall mouder to dust, and together shall lie.
The child that mother attended and loved;
The mother that infants affection who proved;
The husband that mother and infant who blest-
Each all, are away to their dwellings OF rest.
The maid on whose cheek. on whose brows, in whose
eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure-her triumphs are by;
And the memory OF those who loved her and praised
Are alike from the minds of the living erased
The hand of the king that the sceptcr hath borne;
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn;
The eye of the sage, and the heart OF the brave,
Are hidden and lost In the depths OF the grave
The peasant whose lot was to SOW and to reap;
The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep
The beggar, who wandered in search Of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint, who enjoyed the communion of heaven;
The sinner, who dared to remain untOrgiven;
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
SO the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed,
That Wither away 10 let Others succeed;
SO the multitude comes, even those we behold,
TO repeat every tale that hath often been told.
For we are the same things our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, and feel the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run.
The thoughts thinking fathers would think
From the death shrinking from, they, too,
would shrink;
To the life we are Cnging to- they too would cling
But it speeds from the earth like bird the wing
They loved, but their story we cannot unfold;
They scorned, but the heart OF the naughty is cOG
They grieved, but wall from their slumbers will
come;
They loyed but the voice Of their gladness is dumb
They died-aye! they died; we, things that are now
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
Who make in their dwellings transient abode,
Meet the changes they met their pilgrimage road
Yea. hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together, in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge
St:ll follow each other, like surge upon surge.
'Iis the twink of eye, It's the draught of breath
From the blossom of health to the paeness OF death
From the giided saloon to the bier and the shroud;
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?