The Body To The Soul

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO AN OVERWORKED STUDENT.         O tyrant soul of mine,                 What's the use     Of this never-ceasing toil,     Of this struggle, this turmoil,                 This abuse     Of the body and the brain,     Of this labor and this pain,     Of this never-ceasing strain     On the cords that bind us twain                 Each to each?         O tyrant soul of mine,                 Is it well     Thus to waste and wear away     The poor, fragile walls of clay                 Where you dwell?     Was I made your slave to be -     I the abject, you the free,     That you task me ceaselessly? -     Tyrant soul, come, answer me,                 Is it well?         O tyrant soul of mine,                 Don't you know     That in slow, but sure decay,     I am wasting day by day,                 While you grow     None the better for the strain     On my nerves and on my brain,     For my head's incessant pain,     And my sick heart's longings vain                 For repose?         O tyrant soul of mine,                 God, the good,     Joined together you and me     In a wondrous unity,                 That we should     Work together,-not that I,     You degrade and stupefy,     Nor that you His laws defy     By maltreating ceaselessly                 Hapless me!         O tyrant soul of mine,                 By and by,     Weary of your cruel reign,     Quite worn out with toil and pain,                 I shall die     Then, when I have passed away,     And you're asked whose hand did slay     Your companion of the clay,     Much I wonder what you'll say,                 Soul of mine!