Weigh on his head and bend him down;
His brow with thought has become a frown.
Seldom a smile o'er his wrinkles plays,
For his labor makes him a gloomy lore;
Forgetting no face he has covered o'er.
V
Problems of living are hard to learn;
The duty is clear, reward but a hope;
Philosophy fails beyond life's dark scope.
The sage is the digger whose dawns return