Bag Your Game

Two men, well versed in use of arms,
Set out, 'tis said, in search of game.
Each felt that hunting had its charms,
Yet widely differed they in aim.
Both felt their need of wholesome food
For present use and winter's store;
But one was of a careless mood--
Than the day's sport he asked no more.

No game he bagged from morn till night,
Content to show his master skill
In hitting every bird at sight,
And shooting down the deer at will.
Grand sport he deemed it, day by day,
As in the tangled forest brake
He brought the bounding stag to bay,
Or shot the wood-duck in the lake.

As he each night to home returned
He sang the pleasure of the chase;
But had not yet the lesson learned
That he was loser in the race.
Yet, when sat in the winter's cold
And game had fled to warmer clime,
He had no stock to sell for gold,
Nor food: and past his harvest time.

The chase the other prized as well;
But bagged his game as best he could,
And thus had lots of pelts to sell--
For self and wife the choicest food.
In the pursuit of game a thrill
Of keenest joy shot through his heart;
But joy complete he knew not till
He went his way joy to impart.

While he with wife and children shared
The roasted duck and venison,
He felt he as a king had fared;
And though of earth a denizen,
Such food would give both strength and cheer
To meet lifes daily toil aright,
And winter months he did not fear,
His larder filled, and prospect bright.

The search for Truth with pleasure thrills;
To find it, we our end attain--
Possessed, new joy the spirit fills,
And to retain is highest gain.
The pleasure of pursuit is lost
If truth itself is not secured.
O buy the truth at any cost,
And from your aim be not allured!