I cannot read it but I will go on, Old dog, old dog, but settled to the scent And with fresh breath now from this breathing space, Almighty God. At best we never seem To know You wholly, but there’s something left, A strange, last courage. We can fail and fail, But, deep against the failure, something wars, Something goes forward, something lights a match, Something gets up from Sangamon County ground Armed with a bitten and a blunted axe And after twenty thousand wasted strokes Brings the tall hemlock crashing to the ground.

Spade saw the yellow river rolling ahead His sore, cracked lips curled back in a death’s head grin And his empty belly ceased to stick to his sides. He sat on the bank a minute to rest his legs And catch his breath. He had lived for the last three days On a yam, two ears of horse-corn and the lame rabbit That couldn’t run away when he threw the stick.