The eye of man, thru overstrain,
Has lost the sense of sight,
And sees no beauty in the plain,
Tho bathed in floods of light.
The nerves of smell have lost their power
Thru slow but sure disease,
Till dead to fragrant spice and flower,
Even on Arabian seas.
The battle's din, the cannon's roar,
Have pressed upon the ear
With such vibration that no more
Is heard the victor's cheer.
The constant and unresting strain,
On serum, nerve and cell,
Has made a ruin of the brain,
The mind's strong citadel.
But history, sacred or profane,
In mankind, old or young,
Presents to us thru overstrain,
Not one disabled tongue.
__J. M. Cavaness.
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)