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Then clasping hands, all—“Right and left !"-
All swiftly weave the measure deft
Across the woof in loving weft,

And the Money Musk is done!
Oh, dancers of the rustling husk !
Good night, sweet hearts, 'tis growing dusk,

Good night for aye to Money Musk,
For the heavy march begun !




SOMETIMES feel the thread of life is slender,

And soon with me the labor will be wrought;
grows my heart to other hearts more tender.

The time,
The time is short.

A shepherd's tent of reeds and flowers decaying,
That night winds soon will crumble into naught;
So seems my life, for some rude blast delaying.

The time,
The time is short.

Up, up, my soul, the long-spent time redeeming;
Sow thou the seeds of better deed and thought;
Light other lamps, while yet thy light is beaming.

The time,
The time is short.

Think of the good thou might'st have done, when

brightly The suns to thee life's choicest seasons brought;

Hours lost to God in pleasures passing lightly.

The time,
The time is short.

Think of the drooping eyes that might have lifted
To see the good that Heaven to thee hath taught;
The unhelped wrecks that past life's bark have drifted.

The time,
The time is short.

Think of the feet that fall by misdirection;
Of noblest souls to loss and ruin brought,
BE ause their lives are barren of affection.

The time,
The time is short.

The time is short. Then be thy heart a brother's
To every heart that needs thy help in aught;
Soon thou may’st need the sympathy of others.

The time,
The time is short.

If thou hast friends, give them thy best endeavor,
Thy warmest impulse and thy purest thought,
Keeping in mind in word and action ever,

The time,
The time is short.

Each thought resentful from thy mind be driven,
And cherish love by sweet forgiveness bought;
Thou soon wilt need the pitying love of Heaven.

The time,
The time is short.

Up, up, my soul, the shade will soon be falling;
Some good return in later seasons wrought;
Forget thyself, at duty's angel's calling.

The time,
The time is short.

By all the lapses thou hast been forgiven,
By all the lessons prayer to thee hath taught,
To others teach the sympathies of Heaven.

The time,
The time is short.

To others teach the overcoming power,
That thee at last to God's sweet peace hath brought;
Glad memories make to bless life's final hour.

The time,
The time is short.

From what thou art each day, whate'er thy station,
Are new creations good or evil wrought;
Seek thou thy joy in others' elevation.

The time,
The time is short.



IT little profits that an idle king,


By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink

Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That lov'd me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known: cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch where thro'
Gleams that untravellid world, whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains : but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were
: For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the islem
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill

his labor, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere

Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work. I mine.

There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail : There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought

with me
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;

age hath yet his honor and his toil;
Death closes all : but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks :
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deer
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.


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