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SONGS OF THE SOUL

THE CUP OF ETERNITY

The traveler of the endless trackAll weary, thirsty, sore doth seekTo quench the quenchless mortal thirst,The wordless worry of his heart.
He spies a cup —a little orb,He tries to drink with joyful sob,He stands aback, the cup sets down,—On the contents scant his heart did frown.
Yet up he lifts the cup again,But fears his baneful thirst to flame.When, hark! a voice of counsel deepForbids him this to soil with lip.
The cup so small to mortal eye,—The cup whose depth the wise can spyDries up, alas! if mortals drink;Perennial fount, the soulful think.

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