THE DARKENED WAY

“It is no matter;” — thus the noble Dane,

About his heart more ill than one could tell;

Sad augury, that like a funeral bell

Against his soul struck solemn notes of pain.

So‘ gainst the deadly smother he could press

With calm his lofty manhood; interpose

Purpose divine, and at the last disclose

For life's great shift a regnant readiness.

To-day I bought some matches in the street

From one whose eyes had long since lost their sight.

Trembling with palsy was he to his feet.

“Father,” I said, “how fare you in the night?”

“In body ill, but‘ tis no matter, friend,

Strong is my soul to keep me to the end.”