I Live An Idle Burden To The

It Is Not Good To Have A Rule Of Many.

The Lord Gives And The Lord Takes Away, As It Pleases Him, For He Can Do All Things.

Now From His Breast Into The Eyes The Ache Of Longing Mounted, And He Wept At Last, His Dear Wife, Clear And Faithful, In His Arms, Longed For As The Sunwarmed Earth Is Longed For By A Swimmer Spent In Rough Water Where His Ship Went Down Under Poseidon's Blows, Gale Winds And Tons Of Sea. Few Men Can Keep Alive Through A Big Serf To Crawl, Clotted With Brine, On Kindly Beaches In Joy, In Joy, Knowing The Abyss Behind: And So She Too Rejoiced, Her Gaze Upon Her Husband, Her White Arms Round Him Pressed As Though Forever.

Behold, On Wrong Swift Vengeance Waits; And Art Subdues The Strong.

Accept These Grateful Tears...for Thee They Flow, For Thee... That Ever Felt Another's Woe.