THE MASTER SINGER.

THE MASTER SINGER.
485.4

Things loved once overmuch he made us hate,
He turned our veriest weed into a rose,
Taught us to weep at laughter, laugh at fate
Touched us to love or sorrow as he chose.

And waywardly, at his imperious whim,
The tides of truth and beauty seemed to sway
About our feet-while broken life for him
Groped down its old, blind, inharmonious way!
-Arthur Stringer.