There's a new tribunal now higher than God's -The educated man's!
Death: the grand perhaps.
Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.
So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!
If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?