614

In falling Timbers buried-
There breathed a Man-
Outside-the spades-were plying-
The Lungs-within-

Could He-know-they sought Him-
Could They-know-He breathed-
Horrid Sand Partition-
Neither-could be heard-

Never slacked the Diggers-
But when Spades had done-
Oh, Reward of Anguish,
It was dying-Then-

Many Things-are fruitless-
'Tis a Baffling Earth-
But there is no Gratitude
Like the Grace-of Death-