A poem by Thomas Runciman

"Despairless? Hopeless? Join the cheerful hunt
Whose hounds are Science, high Desires the steeds,
And Misery the quarry. Use and Wont
No help to human anguish bring, that bleeds
For all two thousand years of Christian deeds.
Let Use and Wont in styes still feed and grunt,
Or, bovine, graze knee-deep in flowering meads.
Mount! follow! Onward urge Life's dragon-hunt!"
- So cries the sportsman brisk at break of day.
"The sound of hound and horn is well for thee,"
Thus I reply, "but I have other prey;
And friendly is my quest as you may see.
Though slow my pace, full surely in the dark
I'll chance on it at last, though none may mark."

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