Classic Poem

Walking through life's dusty highways,
Mid the tramp of hurrying feet,
We may gather such instruction,
From the lessons " of the street".

Now a beggar sues for succor —
Nay, repress that look of pride!
'Neath that wrecked and shattered body
Doth a human soul reside.

Here's a brow that seems to tell you,
" I am prematurely old;
I have spent my youthful vigor
In an eager search for gold".

On the cheek of yon pale student
Is a divorcement most unkind —
'Tis the cruel separation
Of his body from his mind.

Here a painted child of shame
Flaunts in costly robes of sin,
With a reckless mirth that cannot
Hide the smoldering fires within.

And here's a face so calm and mild,
Mid the restless din and strife;
It seems to say in every line,
" I'm aiming for a higher life".

Just then I caught a mournful glance,
As on the human river rushed,
A harrowing look which plainly said,
" The music of my life is hushed".

Look on that face, so deathly pale,
Its bloom and flush forever fled;
I started, for it seemed to bear
A message to the silent dead.

Thus hurries on the stream of life,
To empty where Death's waters meet;
We pass along, we pass away —
Thus end the lessons of the street.