Only A Box.

[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]     [Only A Box.]             Only a box, secure and strong,             Rough, and wooden, and six feet long,             Lying here in the drizzling rain,             Waiting to take the up-bound train.             Only its owner, just inside,             Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed;             Little to him if the train be late!             Nothing has he to do but wait.             Only an open grave, somewhere,             Heady to close when he gets there;             Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet,             Ready to press him 'neath their feet.             Only a band of friends at home,             Waiting to see the traveller come;             Naught he will tell of distant lands;             He cannot even press their hands.             He has no stories weird and bright,             He has no gifts for a child's delight;             He did not come with anything;             He had not even himself to bring.             Yet they will softly him await,             And he will move about in state;             They will give him, when he appears,             Love, and pity, and tender tears.             Only a box, secure and strong,             Rough and wooden, and six feet long;             Angels guide that soulless breast             Into a long and peaceful rest!