Words Poem by Samuel Alfred Beadle

Words are but leaves to the tree of mind;
Where breezy fancy plays;
Or echoes from the souls which find
Expression's subtle ways.


A beaming lamp to idea's feet
Where sentinel thought abides;
Or a guide to the soul's retreat,
Where master man presides.


A jewel trembling on the tongue,
The index of the heart;
The black mask from the spirit wrung.
Revealing every part.


A ship upon the sea of life,
With all her sails aswell;
Her cargo being the bread of life,
Or the cindered dross of hell.