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Show THE CHILD. By James Oppcnheim. You may be Christ or Shakespeare, little child, A Savior or a sun to tiic lost world. There is no babe born but may carry furled Strength to make bloom the world's disastrous wild. Oil, what then must our labors be to mold you, To open the heart, to build with dream the brain, To strengthen the young soil in toil and pain, Till our age-aching hands no longer hold youl Vision far-dreamcdl But softl If your last goal Be low, if you are only common clay. What then? Toil lost? Were our toil trebled, nayl You arc a soul, you are a human soul, A greater than the skies ten-trillion starred Shakespeare no greater, O you slip of Godl Cosmopolitan. o A St. Louis exchange reports that a young man wearing three coats and four pairs of trousers was taken into custody by the police. It must bc a crime to wear too many clothes in St. Louis. |