THE SUICIDE.
Weary of all worldly scorning,
Weary of all earthly strife,
Ever yearning, ne'er receiving,
What his heart most dearly prized.
Not the crust that human grudging,
Doled to him in pity's name,
Nor where with his want supplying,
Counted he as loss or gain.
Weary of all earthly strife,
Ever yearning, ne'er receiving,
What his heart most dearly prized.
Not the crust that human grudging,
Doled to him in pity's name,
Nor where with his want supplying,
Counted he as loss or gain.
'Twas some cankered chord of sorrow,
In the heart, that longed to break,
'Twas the lack of human loving,
Marked the white appealing face.
Close his eyes, and fold his hands,
Gently on the quiet breast,
Some where in the world's confusion,
Beats some heart that he loved best.
In the heart, that longed to break,
'Twas the lack of human loving,
Marked the white appealing face.
Close his eyes, and fold his hands,
Gently on the quiet breast,
Some where in the world's confusion,
Beats some heart that he loved best.
Some white hand that all unheeding,
Dropped the poisoned arrow there,
In another's clasped, may closer,
Linger in that other's care.
Dropped the poisoned arrow there,
In another's clasped, may closer,
Linger in that other's care.
