CHAPTER IV — DISTRIBUTION.

Upon his bed with withered, palsied frame, Behold an aged man! A life well spent Is drawing to a close. About him stand The loved ones of his home. They prop him up As with a halting voice, yet clear, he speaks: "My treasured store of love will soon be yours. Waste not the capital I leave behind In shedding bitter tears above my grave; I shall not feel thy love, and if I should, 'Twould make me sad to see you weeping there; As thou dost love me, seek and cheer the hearts That find life's road a sad and lonesome way; My dying wish, yes children, my command, Is that you love—yes, love—each oth—er here." He breathes no more. The last sad rites performed, The hearts bereaved return with saddened step And enters once again upon life's tasks. The father's dying wish rings in their ears; They check the flow of tears and rise above The grief that bends them low. Love flows again, And on the gates the youths and maidens fair Are gaily swinging back and forth once more, Fresh coinage from the mint is passing now, And, as we walk the streets, upon the air There rings a sound that proves the metal true.