And shimmer in their flight;
Then, either way, in darkness sink.
What do I know?
I know not who am I:
If now I enter on the Scheme,
Or revenant from long ago;
If but some World-Soul's moment-dream,
Or, timeless, in Itself I lie.
What do I know?
Here is a sweet touch from the Kansas City Star. The very name of the writer of it is so in keeping with tender dutifulness and so suggestive of clean-swept hearths and ministries to tiny, clinging hands, that one wonders if it be not a pseudonym. A miniature "psalm of daily duty" is it: