INSCRIBED TO THE PATHETIC MEMORY OF THE POET HENRY TIMROD
Long are the days, and three times long the nights. The weary hours are a heavy chain Upon the feet of all Earth's dear delights, Holding them ever prisoners to pain. What shall beguile me to believe again In hope, that faith within her parable writes Of life, care reads with eyes whose tear-drops stain? Shall such assist me to subdue the heights? Long is the night, and over long the day.— The burden of all being!—is it worse Or better, lo! that they who toil and pray May win not more than they who toil and curse? A little sleep, a little love, ah me! And the slow weigh up the soul's Calvary!