THE OLD EARTH by Jos. Clarke

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 26, 1859

THE OLD EARTH.

By Jos. Clarke

EARTH is a dark and dreary place, Where sin and death and sorrow grow, In every age and state we trace The stealthy tread of many a foe. From infancy to hoary age, From hovel low to palace hall, Life is a blurred unsightly page, With wormwood mingled and with gall. The bondman's unrequited toil, The handcuff, lash, and social wrong, Is wet with human blood the soil, As if brief life were still too long. The prison wall, the dungeon damp, Assassin's knife, and watchman's tramp, The cannon roar, the rolling drum, Slavery's curse, villainy's sum, The pirate ship, the man of war, Corruption's bribe, and changing law, Counterfeit bills, and broken banks, The broker's skill, and burglar's pranks, The widow's wail, the orphan's moan, The maniac's scream, and drunkard's groan, The hospital and battle field, And wreck-strewn shore reflections yield. And earth is prematurely old, Her nerves unstrung, her blood is cold; Her ears are dull, her sight is dim, She shivers now in every limb; With tottering step and bending form, She shudders at the impending storm; Convulsively she holds her staff, And idiot-like she tries to laugh, As if in tempest-laden cloud Might not be seen her ample shroud; Amid impending hail and sleet, Might not be seen her winding sheet.

JOS. CLARKE.