THOUGHTS ON REACHING LAND

I had a friend whose path was pain —

Oppressed by all the cares of earth

Life gave him little chance to drain

His secret cisterns of rich mirth.

His work was hasty, harassed, vexed:

His dreams were laid aside, perforce,

Until — in this world, or the next....

( His trade? Newspaper man, of course! )

What funded wealth of tenderness,

What ingots of the heart and mind

He must uneasily repress

Beneath the rasping daily grind.

But now and then, and with my aid,

For fear his soul be wholly lost,

His devoir to the grape he paid

To call soul back, at any cost!

Then, liberate from discipline,

Undrugged by caution and control,

Through all his veins came flooding in

The virtued passion of his soul!

His spirit bared, and felt no shame:

With holy light his eyes would shine —

See Truth her acolyte reclaim

After the second glass of wine!

The self that life had trodden hard

Aspired, was generous and free:

The glowing heart that care had charred

Grew flame, as it was meant to be.

A pox upon the canting lot

Who call the glass the Devil's shape —

A greater pox where'er some sot

Defiles the honor of the grape.

Then look with reverence on wine

That kindles human brains uncouth —

There must be something part divine

In aught that brings us nearer Truth!

So — continently skull your fumes

( Here let our little sermon end )

And bless this X-ray that illumes

The secret bosom of your friend!