PoRGOTTEN by my Grod ! what have I done,
That his kind angel thus should pass me by 7

The sands of threescore years were long since runj
I live but with one hope — the hope to die I

1 if long years ago I could have died,

Friends would have watched my dying couch beside.
Now there is none to mourn ; I have outlived
All who have loved me, all whom I have loved:

I have grown old, so old I have survived
All love and joy, and sadly have I proved

That I have lived too long. Life's ties are riven —

I have no place on earth, and none in heaven !



Better it is to die in life's first dawn.
An infant in its mother's arms. Kind hands
Will smooth its couch, and deck its little form



48 THE BOSE OF SHABON.
With pale spring flowers ; and to the angel bands
A seraph will be given. Better to die
Too soon, than to be passed forgotten by.
Better to die in youth or manhood's prime ;

For then kind friends will mourn, tears will be shed,
And requiems will be sung ; and for a time

At least, some loving hearts will mpum the dead.
Their summons reached them in this lower sphere :
Joy that they were not left forgotten here.
Better to die ; e*en though the joys of life
Are round thee, and thy heart clings close to earth.
