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Show H THE.DEAD. H .By Adelaide Guthrie. H Who are the Dead? H Are they the souls who, questing, forth have fared H Through the loose doors of their frail tenements? H Who tarried not for staff, nor wine, nor bread? H Who to the s'tress of Night their bosoms bared, H Despite our bitter tears, our fond laments? H Are they the Dead? H Who are the Dead? Hi Are they the souls who, from their larger view, H Regard with quiet eyes our foolish ways? H Marvel that we should seek to stay, Instead H Of speeding them to their environs new, H And smile to see the sepulchres we raise? H Are they the Dead? H Who are the Dead ? H Say, rather, are not we in full-sensed life, H Bound by our sickly fears, our outworn creeds H That strangely speak of faith; we, who are led H Apart from love, by selfish aims and strife, H Stifled, enslaved, undone, by our misdeeds M Are not we dead? |