Thy lot has been weary, thy pathway was hard ;

Dear heart ! can we weep for the ending,
When thy beautiful dreams were all broken and
marred,

In the van of the battle contending ?
But 't is always the same with the heroes that wage
A war with the errors and sins of an age.
We think with regret of the life that is spent,
But the soul never dies, and the arrow

Death leaves in the bow of a purpose still bent,
Speedeth on to its mission to-morrow.
And thy thought shall not die, but live on and ex-
pand

Into deeds that are noble and lives that are grand.
Thou hast fought through the evil, still holding the
right ;
Thou hast finished the task that was grandest —
Toiled on through the darkness and entered the light.
And now in the glory thou standest.
Though tears stain the way where in pain thou hast

trod,
'T was in parallel lines with the purpose of God.
Poetry and Prose of Marie R. Butler. log



We weep for the bowl that is broken ; but think :

The wine is not spilled ; and forever
At the crystallized cup of thy purpose we drink,

And grow strong by thy earnest endeavor.
Not so hard 't is to die as to live and be true ;
Let us drink and grow stronger to will and to do.
O feet that now walk in a beautiful place,.
Thy errands of mercy are over ;
O beautiful soul in a toil-hardened face,

Humanity weeps for a lover.
But now looking up through our tears, we can see
'T is a glory-lined cloud that encompasseth thee.
We think of thy lips that are frd^en and dumb.
