“What is life and success and the applause of the world when love’s first and only idol lies broken at one’s feet? Happiness must be shared with those we love best, and when we are obliged to share everything the heart holds sacred with some one we can never love, the pleasures of life crumble in our hands like an image that has been reduced to ashes. And the ashes are always being blown into our eyes, and into our mouth, and the taste is bitter, bitter; and the unloved lips that touch ours are tainted with the bitterness of all life’s regrets and mistakes, though we are tied to them with pledges and promises that must never, never be broken.” THE DEAD OF THE LAND AND SEA Below I publish some verses I wrote thirty years ago, and while I worked as a common laborer in the lumber woods of Tioga County, Pennsylvania. In a religious discussion with a pious comrade he quoted Scripture to prove that the earth and sea shall ultimately give up their dead, and each individual shall be punished, or blest, according to the deeds committed while they lived. The more I thought over this horrible picture, the more I doubted that a God of Love would be so revengeful toward any of his poor creatures, who are born into ignorance and superstition, and must go mentally creeping through a life of hunger and pain. OH, LET THEM SLEEP! They tell me that the earth and sea Will some day give up all their dead. Oh, what a strange day that will be To happen thus, as has been said: Clothed in power a God will stand— With outstretched hands this God will be— With one foot on the sea-washed sand, The other buried in the sea, And loudly call: “Come forth, ye dead, No matter where in death you fell; Come with a sentence on your head— You’ll make good fodder for my hell! Come with the heartaches that died with you, With ashes of hope within your hand: You died as all earth’s creatures do— Foreclosure, at Death’s demand. Come before me for sentence now— Come ev’ry one—I know you all: A few shall wear the glory brow, But many, many must go to hell!” “Oh, stay your hand, revengeful God, And let us all sleep where we lie! You know that man is but a clod— Was born to suffer and to die: And life is but chaotic dreams; With human love our one reward; We drifted down life’s midnight streams To stem the tide we found too hard. “Oh, let us sleep, revengeful God, Oblivion seems to fit us well; Here, mingled with the friendly clod, Is better far than pagan hell.” But this strange God will pay no heed To all the bitter cries that well— Cold as a rock, with savage greed, He’ll cast them into scorching hell! * * * * *