White Pine news weekly mining review. [volume] (East Ely, Nev.) 1910-1920, 1915-03-14
'.oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal
Re Proud"

said. There is a poem Whlen mas
been a great favorite with me for
years, which was first shown TO mt
when a young man by a friend and
which | afterward saw and cut from
a newspaper and learned by heart. |
would give a great deal to know who
wrote il, but have never been able to
ascertain Now. as in Lincoln's
time in the White House, the name of
the author is unknown. Here follows
the poem:
o, why should the spirit of mortal be
proud?
Like a swift-feeting meteor. a fast
flying cloud.
A fash of the lightning, a 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 and the
low and the high
Shall molder 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 dwellings
of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose
brow. in whose eve
Shown 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.
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 herdsman who climbed with his
goats up the steep:
The heggar who wandered in search
of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass hat
we tread.
The saint who enjoyed the commun-
ion OF heaven;
The sinner who dared to remain I'M
forgiven.
The wise and the foolish. the guilty
and Just.
Have quietly mingled their bones in
the dust.
So the multitude goes. like the flow
ers or the weed
That withers away to let others sue
coed;
So the multitudes come. even 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.
To the life we are elinging they also
would cling;
But il speeds for us all like a bird on
the wing.
They loved, but the story We cannot
unfold;
They scorned. but the heart of the
naughty is cold:
They grieved. but no wall from their
slumbers will come:
They prayed, but the tongue of their
gladness 81 dumb.
They died, aye. they died, and the
things that are now.
Who walk on the turf that lies over
their brow.
Who make in their dwellings a tran
silent abode.
Meet the things that they met on their
pilgrimage road.
Yea. hope and dependency, pleasure
and pain.
we mingle together in sunshine and
rain;
And the smiles and the tears. the song
and the dirge
Still follow each other like surge upon
surge.
lis. the wink of an eye, it's the
draught of a breath,
FROM the blossom of health to the
paleness OF death,
From the gilded salon to the bier and
the shroud-
o. why should the spirit of mortal be
proud?
Always Considerable.
When former President w. II. Taft