THE SEXTON.

THE SEXTON.
436.10

Nigh to a grave that was newly made
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade.
His task was done, and he paused to wall
The funeral train through the open gate.
A relic of bygone days was he,
And his locks were as white na a foamy sea,
And these words came forth from his lips so thin:
“I gather them in, I gather them in.

“Many are with me, and yet still
I’m alone. I’m king of the dead and
I make my throne
On a monument slab of marble cold.
And my soeptro of rule is the sale I hold.
I’ve bullded the houses that lle around
In every nook of this burial ground;
But come they stranger, or come they kin,
I gather them in, I gather them in.

“I gather them in and their finsi rest
Is here, down here in the earth’s dark breast.”
The sexton ceased, for the funeral train
Wound mately over that solemn plain,
And I said ju my heart, when time is told
A mightier voice than that sexton’s old
Shall sound o’er the last trump’s dreadiul din,
I gather them in, I gather them in
-Kansas City TiME