THE TEST.
I can wade grief, Whole pools of it,-- I 'm used to that.
But the least push of joy Breaks up my feet, And I tip -- drunken.
Let no pebble smile, 'T was the new liquor, --That was all!
Power is only pain, Stranded, through discipline, Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants, And they 'll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh,-- They 'll carry him!
