by R. L. Sharpe
I SN’T IT strange,
That princes and kings,
And clowns that caper,
In sawdust rings,
And common people,
Like you and me,
Are builders for eternity?
Each is given a bag of tools,
A shapeless mass,
A book of rules;
And each must make—
Ere life is flown—
A stumbling block,
Or a steppingstone.
