Than lava grown black and cold,
That once from burning mountain's heart,
In fiery grandeur rolled.

Pity him, pray for him, that is well,
Married for jewels and gold,
Vipers crawl from the caskets bright,
And they keep his fingers cold.
Only a flush of pain or pride,
When to-day our glances met,
He in his gorgeous wealth arrayed,
I, out in the cold and wet.

Hush; as we sow we surely reap,
Yes, he has a wife and gold,
Broad lands, a mansion white and tall
Like an iceberg grand and cold,
I? I've the blessings of the poor,
Which fall like the gentle dew,
I've claims on mansions far away,
I have life, and love, and _you_.




Daybreak.



Turn thy fair face to the breaking dawn,