And the kine's keeper, came Ages have fled since then: And scanty leafage serve That guides the steps of men, And there hath pass'd from me Into the minds of men: ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN. ENDURANCE. How much the heart may bear, and yet not break! How much the flesh may suffer, and not die! I question much if any pain or ache Of soul or body brings our end more nigh; Death chooses his own time; till that is sworn, All evils may be borne. We shrink and shudder at the sureon's knife, Each nerve recoiling from the cruel steel Whose edge seems searching for the quivering life, Yet to our sense the bitter pangs reveal, That still, although the trembling flesh be torn, This also can be borne. We see a sorrow rising in our way, And try to flee from the approaching ill; We seek some small escape; we weep and pray; grain; So crumble strongest lives away Who finds the lion in his lair, Who tracks the tiger for his life, May wound them ere they are aware, Or conquer them in desperate strife; The vexing gnats of every day. The steady strain that never stops The constant fall of water-drops Will groove the adamantine rock; We feel our noblest powers decay, In feeble wars with every day. We rise to meet a heavy blow Our souls a sudden bravery fills But we endure not always so The drop-by-drop of little ills! We still deplore and still obey The hard behests of every day. The heart which boldly faces death Upon the battle-field, and dares Cannon and bayonet, faints beneath The needle-points of frets and cares he stoutest spirits they dismay The tiny stings of every day. |