MOURN NOT THE DEAD

Mourn not the dead that in the cool earth lie--
Dust unto dust--
The calm, sweet earth that mothers all who die
As all men must;

Mourn not your captive comrades who must dwell--
Too strong to strive--
Within each steel-bound coffin of a cell,
Buried alive;

But rather mourn the apathetic throng--
The cowed and the meek--
Who see the world's great anguish and its wrong
And dare not speak!



TAPS

The day is ended! Ghostly shadows creep
Along each dim-lit wall and corridor.
The bugle sounds as from some faery shore
Silvered with sadness, somnolent and deep.
Darkness and bars . . . God! shall we curse or weep?
Somewhere a pipe is tapped upon the floor;
A guard slams shut the heavy iron door;
The day is ended--go to sleep--to sleep.