Beside That Milestone Where The Level Sun, Nigh Unto Setting, Sheds His Last, Low Rays On Word And Work Irrevocably Done, Life'S Blending Threads Of Good And Ill Outspun, I Hear, O Friends! Your Words Of Cheer And Praise, Half Doubtful If Myself Or Otherwise. Like Him Who, In The Old Arabian Joke, A Beggar Slept And Crowned Caliph Woke. Thanks Not The Less. With Not Unglad Surprise I See My Life-Work Through Your Partial Eyes; Assured, In Giving To My Home-Taught Songs A Higher Value Than Of Right Belongs, You Do But Read Between The Written Lines The Finer Grace Of Unfulfilled Designs