The Sting of Life.
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And the eye that was our beacon flinching like a hunted thing,
And a lovely mind in chaos—here, O! life—here is thy sting
And a lovely mind in chaos—here, O! life—here is thy sting
The Coward.
The little life, soft-moulded, that fits my circling arm,
The little heart that leans on mine, and knows no sin nor harm,
The little thoughts that I can guide, the days that I can plan,
Yes, yes, this is my little son, but oh! my soul—a man!
That complex riddle God has made, from which he seems to shrink,
And turn his face, a man! to live, and fight, and strive, and think
Thoughts that I cannot fathom, see sights I never saw,
Dream dreams, and fight temptations, and make, or break the law.
The little heart that leans on mine, and knows no sin nor harm,
The little thoughts that I can guide, the days that I can plan,
Yes, yes, this is my little son, but oh! my soul—a man!
That complex riddle God has made, from which he seems to shrink,
And turn his face, a man! to live, and fight, and strive, and think
Thoughts that I cannot fathom, see sights I never saw,
Dream dreams, and fight temptations, and make, or break the law.
