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Show T H E R I B A painter wrought him a noble-dream, deep toiling day and night.'- -Tho years rolled on, and the canvas dimmed while the radient tints took flight, And tho painter sank in an unmarked grave, forlorn and forgotten quite. A sculptor chisled a matchless form from out of a mass of stone, And it seemed as though tho figure freed from the hand of God had grown , But an earthquake shattered its curvos and lines, and the sculptor dfed unknown. ( , So a poot born, in sheer disdain, laid by tho pen and scroll, And sought a woman who turned to him as a needle to tho polo; And he clasped her hand and held it fast, and loved her body and soul, For tho slow insidious tooth of time like the water's edge devours, i And the thorns of pain rise thick abovo ambition's funeral flowers. And a man and a woman aro all thore is in this old world of ours. ERNEST McGAFFEY |