The commonwealth. (Scotland Neck, N.C.) 1896-1929, 1898-06-30
o, Why Should the Spirit Of Mortal
be Proud?

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White House, he was alone one even
ing with the president in his room,
when he said "There is poem which
has been a great iavorite with me for
years, which was first shown to me
when young man by a friend, and
which I afterwards saw, and cut from
a newspaper and learned by heart. l
would" he continued, "give great
deal to know who wrote it., but have
never been able to ascertain"
o why should the spirit of mortal be
Like swift-feeting meteor, fast-fy-
ing cloud,
A flash of the lightning, break OF the
wave,
Man passes from life to his rest in the
grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow
shall fade,
Be scattered around and together be
laid;
And the young and the old, the low
and the high
Shall moulder to dust and together
shall lie.
The infant a mother attended and
loved,
The mother, that infants affection who
proved;
The husband, that mother and infant
who blessed,
Each, all, are away to their dwelling OF
rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose
brow, In whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure, her tri-
umphs 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 sceptre
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 depth OF
the grave.
The peasant, whose lot was to SOW and
to reap;
The herusr1an, who climbed with his
goats up 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
The sinner, who dared to remain un-
forgiven;
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and
just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in
the dust.
So the multitude goes, like the flower
or the weed,
That wjthers away to let others sue
coed;
So the multitude comes, ever those we
behold,
To repeat every tale that has often
been told.
For we are The same our fathers have
been;
We see the same sights our fathers
have seen
We drink the same stream, and view
the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers
have run.
The thoughts we are thinking our
fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking our
fathers would shrink
10 the life we are clinging they also
would cling;
But speeds for us all, like bird on the
wing.
They loved, but the story we cannot
unfold
They scerned, but the heart of the
naughty is cold;
They grleved, but no walls from the
slumbers will come;
They Joyed, but the tongue of their
gladness is dumb.
They died, ay' they died, and we
things that are now,
Who walk on the turf, that lies DER
Who make IN their dwelling transi-
ent abode,
Meet the things that they met on their
pilgrimage road.
Yea hope and dependency, pleasure
and pain,
We mlngie together in sunshine and
rain;
And the smiles, and the tears, the song
and the dirge,
Still follow each other, like surge upon
surge.
It's the wink of an eye, tits the draught
OF a breath,
From the blossom of health to the
paleness of death
From the gilded saloon to the bier and
the shroud
0 why should the spirit of mortal be
proud?
WILLIAM KNOX.
Loneliness Draws TIE "a aod