The Argosy — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

68 THE FULNESS OF THE WORL By THE REv. T. S. CUNNINGHAM. I. He wandered on the shining sands— The shining sands, when tides were low, What time the rising sun had set The white cliffs all aglow. He looked away, and yet away, Beyond the shingle bordered bar, D. To where the ships, the white-sailed ships, Lay all becalmed afar. And chequered lights and shadows soft Touched purple moor and far-off hill, That mellowed on the golden fields, On barn, and croft, and mill. The swishing of the busy scythe, And hum of voices, melt and merge In numberless uncertain sounds, To music with the surge. And past him, fluttered up and down, A butterfly, striped black and red, A glinting, glancing, careless thing— ‘The world is full of Life,” he said. If. He wandered through the noisy strects— The noisy streets, so cold and grim, Where yellow lights, and yellow fog, Made darkness still more dim. He listened to the ceaseless strife ; The voice alike of young and old ; Where all things precious, all things vile, At bid, were bought and sold. A dream of faces passed him by, In broad highway, and narrow lane, Until the breathless tumult seemed One everlasting pain ! On through the mists, and through the chill, With draggled black, and shouting train, The parish coffin hurried past, Into the sooty rain! (C(@) m Doo SS (C(O)