AN EPITAPH

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7865, 29 July 1911, Page 11

AN EPITAPH

O E N E ATH | | this stone there lies at rest | I a man, who always did his | I best. The gods ordained that I Ihe should' move along a lowly, u , humble groove. For him there was no wealth or fame; be bore no proud ancestral name; no palace doors for him swung wide: but in his hut he lived and died. His years were many and his toil brought riches from the stubborn soil, but all that wealth to them was brought who owned the land whereon ho wrought. He fashioned lumber and the boards made shelter for the languid ; lords. Ho fed the cows and herded swine that other men might nobly dine. From break of dawn till close of day he toiled along his weary way, and took his earnings in his hand to fatten those who owned the land. His feet were seamed with bramble scars, that others might have motor cars. This strip of ground is his reward; ’twos given by his overlord; it’s six feet long and two feet wide, and here they brought him when he died. . To labour hard for fifty years, endure the burdens and the tears, to have no grateful hours of rest, to toil, and bend, and do your best, to grind and moil and delve and save and at, the last to get—a grave! Poor souls that in the darkness grope, arid weave and spin and have no hope! ' ■ WALT MASON, ! ■ The “Poet Philosopher," in "San Francisco Call." •