A thought of kindred saddened the heart of Atma. In the loss of parents

and brethren lay, he thought, the sole cause of the heaviness that

oppressed him. Their restoration would have made existence complete. He

had lost them before he had awakened to the knowledge that those we love

are even, when nearest, very far away. Humanity does not hear the voice

of kindred on earth.

I find

In all the earth

Like things with like combined,

How happy, happy from their birth

Are silly things, in guileless mirth

Who seek them out and greatly love their kind.

How e'en

The crafty snake,

Like dove of gentle mien,

Doth with his fellows converse take

The love-notes well from wood and brake

That tell betwixt some lives some barriers intervene.

Ah me,

Shall only one

Of golden things that be,

One only underneath the sun

In dolour here life's journey run,

Speeding the way alone to great Eternity?

The Soul

It sits apart,

Craving a prison dole

Of ruth and healing for its hurt,

As piteous captive should cajole,

Vainly, unheeding ear afar in stranger mart.

FOOTNOTE: [1] That this incident is suggested by Hans Andersen's beautiful story

is so evident as scarcely to need acknowledgment. The thoughts embodied

here occurred to me in such early childhood that I do not experience a

sense of guilt in thus appropriating the lesson which I have no doubt

the writer intended.




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