Works

Atonement Day--evening pray'r--sadness profound.
The soul-lights, so clear once, are dying around.
The reader is spent, and he barely can speak;
The people are faint, e'en the basso is weak....

My tailor's shears I scorned then;
I strove for something higher:
To edit news--live by the pen--
The pen that shall not tire!

The pen, that was my humble slave,
Has now enslaved its master;...

If but with my pen I could draw him,
With terror you'd look in his face;
For he, since the first day I saw him,
Has sat there and sewed in his place.

Years pass in procession unending,...

Now the last, long rays of sunset
To the tree-tops are ascending,
And the ash-gray evening shadows
Weave themselves around the earth.

On the crest of yonder mountain,...