The Son of Sorrow. A Fable From the Swedish. All lonely, excluded from Heaven, Sat Sorrow one day on the strand ; And, mournfully buried in thought, Form’d a figure of clay with her hand. Jove appeared. “ What is this ?” he demands ; She replied. “ ’Tis a figure of clay. Show thy pow’r on the work of my hand ; Give it life, mighty Father, I pray !” “ Let him live !” said the God. “ But observe, As I lend him, he mine must remain,” “ Not so,” Sorrow said, and implor’d, “Oh ! let me my offspring retain ! “ ’Tis to me his creation he owes.” “ Yes,” said Jove, “but’twas I gave him breath.” As he spoke, Earth appears on the scene, And, observing the image, thus saith : “ From me—from my bosom he’s torn, I demand, then, what’s taken from me. “ This strife shall be settled,” said Jove ; “ Let Saturn decide ’tween the three.” This sentence the Judge gave. “ To all He belongs, so let no one complain ; The life, Jove, Thou gav’st him shalt Thou With his soul, when he dies, take again. “ Thou, Earth, shalt receive back his frame, At peace in thy lap he’ll recline ; But during his whole troubled life, He shall surely, O Sorrow, be thine ! “ His features thy look shall reflect ; Thy sigh shall be mixed with his breath ; And he ne’er shall be parted from thee Until he reposes in death !” Moral. The sentence of Heaven, then is this : And hence Man lies under the sod ; Though Sorrow possesses him, living He returns both to Earth and to God.