By M. M. Glover
"Why does pain come, Marring each pleasure; Why does want come, Spoiling each treasure; Making us doubtful, and gloomy, and sad?
Why does woe As Written: wo dim Eyes full of brightness, Why does time rob Steps of their lightness, Bowing the proud form with beauty once clad?
Why does change come, Kingdoms undoing, Why does death come, Life e'er pursuingAs Written:persuing; Casting its shadow o'er youth and o'er age?
Why does todayAs Written:to-day Seek the tomorrowAs Written:to-morrow; Ever away, Bearing its sorrow?"
[*]Archival Note: A series of metamarks that look like Xs appear at this point in the manuscript.
Thus sang a poet,- a native of earth,— Who bore in their heart, the pangs of their birth; Who suffered and toiled in sorrow and pain, Wearing their life, as a captive his chain.
Thus sang the poet;— no voice made reply,— But a dirge-like moan in the air came by, And the earth shook through, as if seized with pain, Or the Chaos of old had come again; While the sky grew black and upon their head A torrent of tears from his deep urn shed.
Then at memory's touch,— methought 'twas man, Had altered wide, the Creator's plan;— That Paradise now was an unknown spot, By all but the follower of God forgot;— That death and want and pain could bind, With icy fetters the human mind: And the poet ceased;— as they looked to Heaven And felt that to them was that mansionJohn 14:2 In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. given
Excuse this execution I am in great haste
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