large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/09_thewoodcutter_service_hp_64kb_18
large/2254/ballads_cheechako_0811_librivox_64kb_mp3/09_thewoodcutter_service_hp_64kb
English
2254
By day it's a ruthless monster, a callous, insatiate thing, With oily bubble and eddy, with sudden swirling of breast; By night it's a writhing Titan, sullenly murmuring, Ever and ever goaded, and ever crying for rest. It cries for its human tribute, but me it will never drown. BY DAY IT'S A RUTHLESS MONSTER A CALLOUS INSATIATE THING WITH OILY BUBBLE AND EDDY WITH SUDDEN SWIRLING OF BREAST BY NIGHT IT'S A WRITHING TITAN SULLENLY MURMURING EVER AND EVER GOADED AND EVER CRYING FOR REST IT CRIES FOR ITS HUMAN TRIBUTE BUT ME IT WILL NEVER DROWN
alone! The Wood-Cutter _The sky is like an envelope, One of those blue official things; And, sealing it, to mock our hope, The moon, a silver wafer, clings. What shall we find when death gives leave To read--our sentence or reprieve?_ I'm holding it down on God's scrap-pile, up on the fag-end of earth; O'er me a menace of mountains, a river that grits at my feet; Face to face with my soul-self, weighing my life at its worth; Wondering what I was made for, here in my last retreat. Last! Ah, yes, it's the finish. Have ever you heard a man cry? (Sobs that rake him and rend him, right from the base of the chest.) That's how I've cried, oh, so often; and now that my tears are dry, I sit in the desolate quiet and wait for the infinite Rest. Rest! Well, it's restful around me; it's quiet clean to the core. The mountains pose in their ermine, in golden the hills are clad; The big, blue, silt-freighted Yukon seethes by my cabin door, And I think it's only the river that keeps me from going mad. DCUTTER BY ROBERT SERVICE READ FOR LIEBERVOXDAD ORG BY HAIDEY PRICE THE SKY IS LIKE AN ENVELOPE ONE OF THOSE BLUE OFFICIAL THINGS AND SEALING IT TO MOCK OUR HOPE THE MOON A SILVER WAFER CLINGS WHAT SHALL WE FIND WHEN DEATH GIVES LEAVE TO READ OUR SENTENCE OR REPRIEVE I'M HOLDING IT DOWN ON GOD'S SCRAP PILE UP ON THE FAGOND OF EARTH O'ER ME A MENACE OF MOUNTAINS A RIVER THAT GRITS AT MY FEET FACE TO FACE WITH MY SOUL SELF WEIGHING MY LIFE AT ITS WORTH WONDERING WHAT I WAS MADE FOR HERE IN MY LAST RETREAT LAST AH YES IT'S THE FINISH HAVE EVER YOU HEARD A MAN CRY SOBS THAT RAKE HIM AND REND HIM RIGHT FROM THE BASE OF THE CHEST THAT'S HOW I'VE CRIED OH SO OFTEN AND NOW THAT MY TEARS ARE DRY I SIT IN THE DESOLATE QUIET AND WAIT FOR THE INFINITE REST REST WELL IT'S RESTFUL AROUND ME IT'S QUIET CLEAN TO THE CORE THE MOUNTAINS POSE IN THEIR ERMINE IN GOLDEN THE HILLS ARE CLAD THE BIG BLUE SILK FREIGHTED YUKON SEETHES AT MY CABIN DOOR AND I THINK IT'S ONLY THE RIVER THAT KEEPS ME FROM GOING MAD
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