Page:Poems Cook.djvu/244

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STANZAS.
The Mind, the great, the mighty Mind,
Now soars and leaves all earth behind,
To claim its kindred with a God,—
And now sinks down on flagging wing,
Till man becomes the meanest thing
That walks the sod.

The Form, the upright, beauteous Form,
Towering like lighthouse 'mid the storm,
Now stands in wondrous power and grace,—
Anon, the shrivell'd, angled bones,
Crazy and warp'd as old gravestones,
Are all we trace.

The Hand, the strong, the ruling Hand,
That piles the pyramids on land,
And builds what tempests fail to break,—
With palsied trembling holds the staff,
While rosy children gaze and laugh
To see it shake.

The Voice, the deep, the full, firm Voice,
That swells to threaten or rejoice
In pompous oath or revel shout,—
Is now so mumbling, thin, and weak,
We wonder what the garrulous squeak
Is all about.

Oh, Man, when thou art getting vain
Of courtly rank or treasured gain,
Just turn toward the cypress-tree;—
"Ashes to ashes" form the prayer,
And yellow skulls are crumbling there,
Where thou shalt be.

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