A savage giant captured men, And took their wives and children, too, And put them in a dismal pen, And asked himself what he must do. He ne’er had eaten human flesh— His soul revolted at the thought; The clothes they wore were only trash, By their own hands they had been wrought. “I’ll torture them,” the giant said, “To see them writhe and twist with pain; I’ll watch them in their torture bed, And hear them weep and wail in vain.” And, while he planned, the pris’ners slept. A mother drew close to her breast The babe that had so loudly wept, And soon they both had sunk to rest. And now the giant loudly called; “Come forth, ye creatures of the damn’d And in this pit, so strangely walled, I’ll torture you, as I have planned, Forever you shall weep and cry— ’Twill be sweet music in my ears— For you shall never, never die While eternity winds up the years!” * * * * * I made this giant—who made this God, To do the work my giant schemed? For spirit ne’er this cold world trod With such a heart as brute man dreamed. The God who loves the blooming flower, Who tuned the voice of child and bird, Would never use his God-like power To conjure tortures so absurd. No! No! and when the earth and sea Give up the dead they’re holding fast, A God of love and life there’ll be Forgiving man his painful past; For, would a God who can forgive, Call back the dead from where they sleep, And take delight to have them live, Where they eternally must weep? If this be true, then keep your dead, Oh, tear-washed earth and troubled sea! And let them sleep within their bed To rest throughout eternity. WHERE DREAMS COME TRUE Are dreams but idle things, or is there a land where all our happy dreams come true? Dreams are queer freaks of the intellect. We dream of the dead whom we have not seen for so long, that we can scarcely recall the picture of their face in our wakeful hours, but in our dreams we walk with them and talk with them and see them just as they were while living. The picture printed on our brain cells never fades away, and when the brain is held under the proper light, the old picture comes to view. Do these pictures fade away absolutely at death, or is there a land where all these brain pictures are stored away, to be given to us when we are called back?