The First Rhyme Of Sym

We strive together in life's crowded mart, Keen-eyed, with clutching hands to over-reach. We scheme, we lie, we play the selfish part, Masking our lust for gain with gentle speech; And masking too--O pity ignorance!-- Our very selves behind a careless glance.

Ah, foolish brothers, seeking e'er in vain The one dear gift that liesso near at hand; Hoping to barter gold we meanly gain For that the poorest beggar in the land Holds for his own, to hoard while yet he spends; Seeking fresh treasure in the hearts of friends.

We preach; yet do we deem it worldly-wise To count unbounded brother-love a shame, So, ban the brother-look from out our eyes, Lest sparks of sympathy be fanned to flame. We smile; and yet withhold, in secret fear, The word so hard to speak, so sweet to hear--

The Open Sesame to meanest hearts, The magic word, to which stern eyes grow soft, And crafty faces, that the cruel marts Have seared and scored, turn gentle--Nay, how oft It trembles on the lip to die unppoke, And dawning love is stifled with a joke.

Nay, brothers, look about your world to-day: A world to you so drab, so commonplace-- The flowers still are blooming by the way, As blossom smiles upon the sternest face. In everv hour is born some thought of love; In every heart is hid some treasure-trove.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

With a modified clapping and stamping of feet The Glugs mildly cheered him, as Sym took his seat. But some said 'twas clever, and some said 'twas grand- More especially those who did not understand. And some said, with frowns, tho' the words sounded plain, Yet it had a deep meaning they craved to explain.

But the Mayor said: Silence! He wished to observe That a Glug was a Glug; and in wishing to serve This glorious Cause, which they'd asked him to lead, They had proved they were Glugs of the noble old breed That made Gosh what it was . . . and he'd ask the police To remove that small boy while they heard the next piece.