And he came at last one eventide,

His breast was pierced and his plumes were gory;

For home is best when we come to die,

And we love the love that our youth puts by,—

And there's my story.

[24]

[24]

SUNSET IN THE CITY.

Down at the end of the iron lane

I see the sunset's glare,

And the red bars lie across the sky

Like steps of a wondrous stair.

Below, the throng, with unlifted eye,

Sweeps on in its heedless flight

Where the street's black funnel pours its tide

Out into the deepening night.

And no one has stopped to read God's word

On the fiery heavens scrolled

Save an old man dreaming of boyhood's days,

And a boy who would fain be old.

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