Well I say God rest her soul, as she was used to say. I want to raise a stone to mark her grave, And carve her name below a broken heart. For listen now: the ring Cordelia wore Was just a little band of gold and set With a cornelian heart--am I not right? I knew I was. THE TYPICAL AMERICAN? He calls himself an American citizen-- And yet among such various breeds of men Who’ll call him typical? At any rate His faults or virtues one may predicate Somewhat as follows: He is sent to school Little or much, where he imbibes the rule Of safety first and comfort; in his youth He joins the church and ends the quest of truth. Beyond the pages of theology He does not turn, he does not seem to see How hunger makes these Occidental creeds Sweet foliage on which the stomach feeds. Like those thick tussock moths upon the bole Of a great beech tree, feed the human soul And it will use the food for gold and power! So men have used Christ Jesus’ tender flower, And garnered it for porridge, opiates, And made it flesh of customs laws and states Where life repeats itself after a plan And breeds the typical American-- As he regards himself. Our man matures And enters business, following the lures Of great increase in business, more receipts-- Upon this object center all his wits. And greater crops make needful larger barns, Vainly the parable of Jesus warns. His soul is now required, is taken away From living waters, in a little day Thrift, labor dooms him, leaves him banqueting Where nothing nourishes, they are the sting Which deadens him and casts him down at last Fly blown or numb or lifeless in this vast Surrounding air of Vital Power, where God Like the great sun, invites the wayside clod To live at full.