Mourning the past? Bowed is the lofty head—
Rayless the orbs that flushed with victory.
Over the raging waves of human will
The Saviour’s spirit walked—and all was still!
Roscoe.
’Tis pitiful
To court a grin when you should woo a soul;
To break a jest, when pity would inspire
Pathetic exhortation; and to address
The skittish fancy with facetious tales,