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Show THE TANGLED SKEIN By Eben R. Leeford. Two men were talking by the sea, Of what had been and what might be, And as the first his hopes made known, The tide upon the bar made moan. The boon I ask of fate, is fame -- Of work known and an honored name, I ask not love. Let that pass by, If fame be mine that cannot die. Those in the valley seek for love; My foot must climb the heights above. ":I ask not fame," the other said. "What matters praise when I am dead? Be mine the boon of love and home, From which my feet may never roam. The lowliest path will pleasant be, If love is there to walk with me." Ah, strange indeed the ways of fate, The tangled threads will not come straight. Love came to him who asked for fame, The world has never heard his name. With wife and children by his side, His neighbors think him satisfied. But by his hearth he often hears The great world's praises in his ears, And wonders vaguely which were best, The hill's wide view, or valley's rest? To him who asked for love and home, Came fame, and ever he must roam. Through all the world his name is known, But he goes on unloved, alone. Men envy him. They cannot know The human heart that hungers so For love and home. Below he sees, With longing eyes, the valley's peace. But up the hill he climbs alone; He asked for bread and found a stone. Oh, sorely-tangled skein of fate! Some time, God grant, the thread come straight. |