| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | X. The Pity of It
We too shall sleep | | By Archibald Lampman (1861–1899) |
| | | NOT, not for thee, | |
| Belovèd child, the burning grasp of life | |
| Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife, | |
| And clamour of midday thou shalt not see; | |
| But wrapped for ever in thy quiet grave, | 5 |
| Too little to have known the earthly lot, | |
| Time’s clashing hosts above thine innocent head, | |
| Wave upon wave, | |
| Shall break, or pass as with an army’s tread, | |
| And harm thee not. | 10 |
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| A few short years | |
| We of the living flesh and restless brain | |
| Shall plumb the deeps of life and know the strain, | |
| The fleeting gleams of joy, the fruitless tears; | |
| And then at last when all is touched and tried, | 15 |
| Our own immutable night shall fall, and deep | |
| In the same silent plot, O little friend, | |
| Side by thy side, | |
| In peace that changeth not, nor knoweth end, | |
| We too shall sleep. | 20 | | | |
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