TJhe SPsalm of jCife,
etc.
TeU
me not, you mournful walker. That this mud's an empty dream.
And the sole is dry, you talker, And you step not where 3'ou
seem.
Mud is real, mud is earnest. And to dry you's not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest. Was not spoken for your sole. Not to
dry and
not to
Is its destined end But to
slump,
Finds your Mud is
And
deep, our
harden.
or
way;
that each to-morrow
footprints the soil is
of
to-day.
sinking.
shoes, though large and stout.
Still Uke bashful
girls, are shrinking. Very little sticking out.
In the walk up to the village. In the struggle of our life.
By the Be
Trust
a
small
thing
be not
rattled.
hero in the strife.
no
footing,
howe'er solid.
Let not dry mud be your bed. Jump jump in our very presence. Dresses up and feet ahead
.