HE SITS alone, afar from human kind,
On darkening desert sands; but all about
Is what he hastened to: the deadly gold —
The shining thing that mocks the Mercy-Seat
And laughs at love so far from him tonight—
Ah, he laughs, too ; a sickening sound' that comes
From parching tongue and throat without a voice.
His great amusement is : that all this wealth,
This tempter of men's souls, this lure to sin,
Can not procure for him one glass of drink,
One drop of water in this hell of thirst.
He tries to laugh — Hark! there is ocean's roar;
He thinks a laugh — See ! there is home again.
Wrong: they are phantom sound and sight. In gulf
Of darkness and despair his mind sinks deep,
As prayerless, comfortless he slips to death.
— M. Watrous.
Western, Field. Western Field - Sportsmans Magazine of the West. San Francisco: Western Field, 1907.
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