Boom! And the sound. comes throbbing down from the distant hill!
Boom! one the knell of the Day of Doom The great gong sobs in thg temple-gloom!
Sobs! and the air grows still!
Peace! and the solemn waters mirror the silent trees!
Peeve! TH the Things of Day awake, ud, faintly stealing across the ake, There comes a thin, chill breeze!
Riot of sound and colour!
Babel of din and strife!
Incense-reck and a plague of flies. Groveiling beggars end filth and lies, The foun leaps back to Life!
What of the fish? My brothers, oft' have you heard it told! You may tail adi day in a hi sun!
You may toil all night! You may not catch one!
But the srarmest beer grows cold, If properly iced!
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.