The Mousing Moon

The gold moon txirns to white ; The white moon fadea to cloud ; It look 6o Like the gold mom'n shroud, It makes uio tliink uhout tlie dead, Anti hear the vorda 1 have lic til rond, By graves for burial rite. I wonder now how many moona In just sueh white have died ; 1 wonder how the stars divide Among themsclves their ahaiO of light ; Aud ii' thora were grent yeurs of niyht lïütore tliu eurtii suw moous Í I wonder wliy each moon, each sun Whioh ever has heen or shall be. In thifl day's sun and moon I see ; [ th uk p rhapsaU ot tlu old lei liidf'c i in ench new duy'n hold ; fco the lirst day ia nol y et done I And Uien I think- our dust is sjwnt Before the balancea aie swung; fcihall we le lonelie-it nu ng God 's living om -a: uir .' ÖhttU wc dfiro ïo speak in thU eterbal air The only discontent ï