slain; Remember, too, the cleansing rain Of widows' and of orphans' tears. The dead are dead—let that atone:     And though with equal hand we strew The blooms on saint and sinner too, Yet God will know to choose his own. The wretch, whate'er his life and lot, Who does not love the harmless dead With all his heart and all his head—   May God forgive him—I shall not. When, Salomon, you come to quaff The Darker Cup with meeker face, I, loving you at last, shall trace Upon your tomb this epitaph:    "Draw near, ye generous and brave—     Kneel round this monument and weep:     It covers one who tried to keep A flower from a dead man's grave." 

 

 DENNIS KEARNEY

   Your influence, my friend, has gathered head—   To east and west its tides encroaching spread. There'll be, on all God's foot-stool, when they meet, No clean spot left for God to set His feet. 

 

 FINIS FTERNITATIS

   Strolling at sunset in my native land, With fruits and flowers thick on either hand, I crossed a Shadow flung athwart my way, Emerging on a waste of rock and sand.    "The apples all are gone from here," I said,   "The roses perished and their spirits fled. I will go back." A voice cried out: "The man Is risen who eternally was dead!"    I turned and saw an angel standing there, Newly descended from the heights of air. Sweet-eyed compassion filled his face, his hands A naked sword and golden trumpet bare.    "Nay, 'twas not death, the shadow that I crossed,"   I said. "Its chill was but a touch of frost. It made me gasp, but quickly I came through, With breath recovered ere it scarce was lost."    'Twas the same land! Remembered mountains thrust Grayed heads asky, and every dragging gust, In ashen valleys where my sons had reaped, Stirred in familiar river-beds the dust. Some heights, where once the traveler was shown The youngest and the proudest city known, Lifted smooth ridges in the steely light—   Bleak, desolate acclivities of stone. Where I had worshiped at my father's tomb, Within a massive temple's awful gloom, A jackal slunk along the naked rock, Affrighted by some prescience of doom. Man's vestiges were nowhere to be found, Save one brass mausoleum on a mound       (I knew it well) spared by 

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