WRITTEN AT THE GRAVE OF * Stop traveller beside this grave, He talked with seers and sages gray, And with the men of mark, And found them all, both great and small, He went to nature, tried to pierce The mystery of her plan, The more he knew, the more he A sad and solemn man. grew, The world was but a prison house, Problems profound all hung around, Through day and night most reverently, The cloud of doubt compassed about, Oh how he strove but to believe, "This ye can only know The realms are dumb from which you come, As those to which you go." This living world is all afloat, Time bears it like a breath, Our hearts she heaves like Autumn's leaves, Upon the shores of death; Tho' much he thought and moralized, Upon her mighty river, He saw but wreck and waves that break, For ever and for ever. And mystery on mystery, Encompassed him around, He never caught the light he sought, He sought the light, he sank in night, ELDER JOHN. A rev'rent man was Elder John, A bonnet blue upon his head, His coat was o' the hodden gray, Wi' wally flaps ahin, His stockings o' the rig-an-fur, His waistcoat far below his waist, They didna ken the man wha judged, And yet for that auld world garb, His heart was fresh and young, And wisdom-laden were the words, And to the idols o' the age, His knee he wadna bow, For simple souled sincerity, Tho' he was doure on points o' faith, He cherished love and hope, And if he bore a grudge ava, That grudge was to the Pope; Despite the world and the flesh, And yet he had his wee bit faults, Like ony ither man, And through the country far and near, Nae ane was better known, And lang he'll be remembered there, Though he was nae philosopher, Yet kent he truth frae falsehood, by A system o' his ain; M |