COUNTING THE GRAVES.
"How many graves are in this world?" "Oh, child,"
His mother answered, "surely there are two."
Archly he shook his pretty head and smiled:
"I mean in this whole world, you know I do."
His mother answered, "surely there are two."
Archly he shook his pretty head and smiled:
"I mean in this whole world, you know I do."
"Well, then, in this whole world: in East and West
In North and South, in dew and sand and snow,
In all sad places where the dead may rest:
There are two graves—yes, there are two, I know."
In North and South, in dew and sand and snow,
In all sad places where the dead may rest:
There are two graves—yes, there are two, I know."
"But graves have been here for a thousand years,—
Or, for ten thousand? Soldiers die, and kings;
And Christians die—sometimes." "My own poor tears
Have never yet been troubled by these things.
Or, for ten thousand? Soldiers die, and kings;
And Christians die—sometimes." "My own poor tears
Have never yet been troubled by these things.
. . . "More graves within the hollow ground, in sooth,
Than there are stars in all the pleasant sky?—
Where did you ever learn such dreary truth,
Oh, wiser and less selfish far than I."
Than there are stars in all the pleasant sky?—
Where did you ever learn such dreary truth,
Oh, wiser and less selfish far than I."
