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ANVIL SPARKS 
 
 SOME RADICAL RHYMES 
 AND CAUSTIC COMMENTS 
 
 By 
 WILBY HEARD 
 
 yi'.- 
 
 BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 835 Broadwayy New York 
 
 BRANCH OFFICES: 
 ATLANTA. 
 
 CHICAGO. WASHINGTON, BALTIMORE, 
 NORFOLK. FLORENCE. ALA. 
 

 \'^\o 
 
 Copyright, 19 io. 
 
 By 
 
 Broadway PysLiSHiNG Co. 
 
 CCI.A2?8514 
 
To my wife this little volume is most lovingly 
 dedicated. Wilby Heard. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Memory 7 
 
 The Ocean of Sorrow 8 
 
 Olalla 9 
 
 Song of the Near Future lo 
 
 Night Dethroned 12 
 
 The Poppy 14 
 
 So It Goes 14 
 
 To My Wife 15 
 
 To Lucile, My Daughter 17 
 
 Why? 17 
 
 The Tardy Rose 18 
 
 Keep A-Going 19 
 
 ? 20 
 
 Truth, the Conqueror 21 
 
 Recollections 23 
 
 Dreary Night 25 
 
 The River 26 
 
 Life 28 
 
 You Pride the Poet 30 
 
 The Public Way 31 
 
 Complaint of a Last Year's Leaf s^ 
 
 YouVe But to Try 34 
 
 A Tint of Pessimism 34 
 
 Freedom's Request 36 
 
 As for Me — The God of Love 37 
 
 God and Teddy 38 
 
 To a Church Bell 40 
 
 The Worn-out Wage Slave 41 
 
 A Sermon 42 
 
 5 
 
6 Contentt 
 
 Grace 44 
 
 Maid of the Future 44 
 
 Freedom 46 
 
 A White-Slave's Soliloquy 47 
 
 Answer Workers 49 
 
 The Better Day 51 
 
 We Are Nearing Our Goal 53 
 
 The Butterfly 54 
 
 To the Discouragers 55 
 
 The "Gone Astray" 57 
 
 The Skeleton of Honor 58 
 
 The Moon-Cop 60 
 
 A Minute 62 
 
 Ode to a Mustache 63 
 
 Devil-ution 64 
 
 Bill and I 66 
 
 A Composition 67 
 
 The Chestnut Burr 67 
 
 Love's Stages 68 
 
 Pleasant Sport 69 
 
 Farewell to Summer 70 
 
 The Child and the Rose 72 
 
 What's in a Name 74 
 
 Autumn Wind 75 
 
 John D.'s Prayer 76 
 
 True Love 78 
 
 Life's Inevitable 79 
 
 "Gentlemen" 80 
 
 November 82 
 
 A Capitalist's Complaint 83 
 
 Come Join Us 84 
 
 Is That So? 86 
 
ANVIL SPARKS. 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 Ah ! forever have vanished the summers of olden, 
 
 When the days of my Hfe first met with their 
 
 spring; 
 
 When all that I saw was tinged with deep golden, 
 
 And sorrow, like pleasure, was e'er on the 
 
 wing. 
 
 The days when I stood at the foot of life's 
 mountain, 
 And with childish vision saw paths to the crest. 
 And thought I would climb to drink deep of that 
 fountain 
 Whose waters of wisdom found birth in its 
 breast. 
 
 So charmed by the fragrance and hues of the 
 flowers. 
 Unseen were the thick weeds of care that did 
 grow ; 
 I yet was to learn from manhood's stern powers. 
 That only joy speeds, but sorrow goes slow. 
 
 7 
 
8 antJil Spatk0 
 
 I pictured the summit, and how to attain it, 
 If tired, I'd rest 'neath friendship's broad trees ; 
 
 How easy, how simple, 'twas e'en to explain it — 
 The heat of the journey be cooled by love's 
 breeze. 
 
 Oh, yes, they have vanished, those sweet hours of 
 olden. 
 Gone is their lustre, and noon-tide is here; 
 Withered the flowers, their petals did fold in. 
 And now, one by one, they drop scentless and 
 sere. 
 
 Scarce are the flowers, while weeds without 
 measure 
 Have sprung on all sides of that pathway once 
 fair ; 
 Yet I cling to those petals, tho dried, as a treas- 
 ure, 
 A talisman are they that ward oif despair. 
 
 Good money washes clean an ill name. 
 
 He who "serves the public" soon grows rich. 
 
 THE OCEAN OF SORROW. 
 
 There's a mighty surging ocean, 
 In this land, we all have seen; 
 
antoil ©parks 
 
 And its briny sobbing billows 
 
 Keep the banks devoid of green. 
 You have traversed there, my comrade ; 
 
 You have sailed therein, my foe, 
 When the winds were wild with anger, 
 
 And the foam tossed white as snow. 
 I have journeyed there with loved ones; 
 
 I have rocked therein, alone; 
 I have seen frail barks go under; 
 
 Heard the last and dying groan. 
 
 Drop by drop, that ocean gathered, 
 
 From a tiny tarn it grew, 
 Till it spread and gulfed our borders, 
 
 Till its taste all mankind knew. 
 It is you and I, my brothers, 
 
 Who must check this ocean's spread; 
 So the children of the future 
 
 Do not drown within its bed. 
 Neither you nor I can check it, 
 
 But together, all, we can 
 We can dry the sea of sorrow 
 
 With the help of EVERY MAN. 
 
 £^ ^y^ £^ 
 
 ^^ ^^ 0^ 
 
 OLALLA. 
 
 (On reading R. L. Stevenson's story by that 
 name.) 
 
 Child of a cursed and woeful doom, 
 Dwelling 'mong the cloud-kissed peaks, 
 
10 anbil ^patb0 
 
 Lonely in thy bleak north room. 
 
 With silent tongue, but eye that speaks. 
 God-like face and soul of strife. 
 Mystic maid of a mystic life. 
 
 Bent 'neath a yoke by dead sires cast, 
 At the cost of love, outwitting fate. 
 
 Two souls crushed to retrieve the past. 
 With thy heart's blood appeasing hate. 
 
 Child of a cursed and woeful doom, 
 
 From first sire's crib to thy cold tomb. 
 
 O guiltless love, Olalla fair, 
 
 I see thee in thy bleak north room, 
 
 Up in that cloud-kissed mystic lair. 
 With none to ease thy woeful doom; 
 
 With none to soothe that rankling woe, 
 
 Not even he who loves thee so. 
 
 An empty sack won't stand upright; neither 
 will a full "high-rounder." 
 
 SONG OF THE NEAR FUTURE. 
 
 Now shattered lie the steel-wrought chains, vile 
 tyranny has vanished, 
 
 The widow's moan, the slave-child's groan, for- 
 ever have been banished. 
 
 And Mammon's force will bring remorse and 
 blight man's hope no more. 
 
The child his day now joys in play on mead or 
 
 breeze-kissed shore. 
 Each man plies a useful trade — machines no 
 
 longer maim — 
 And none their brothers now degrade, all share 
 
 an equal claim. 
 None of his neighbor is afraid, so no man bows 
 
 in shame. 
 
 Dead the misery of the past, and dead both pride 
 
 and crime. 
 And joy is here, is here to last, and truth to 
 
 reign sublime. 
 And peace has come to live with all, and all shall 
 
 know it well. 
 For none shall live in overmuch, and none in 
 
 need shall dwell. 
 
 A holy song, is this our song, it rings the world 
 
 around. 
 No more on hill, in vale, on sea, shall slavery's 
 
 trace be found. 
 For all are free, and e'er shall be — it has been 
 
 so decreed; 
 At last we own what we have sown, and nothing 
 
 goes to greed. 
 
 Well may we sing, each man a king, who o'er 
 
 himself does reign. 
 Myriad souls have bled to bring this priceless, 
 
 priceless gain. 
 And so we sing, our praises bring, to those who 
 
 helped attain. 
 
12 aniJiI S)patk0 
 
 To end all wrong we've battled long with truth 
 
 well set before us, 
 But now we've won and the whole throng will 
 
 join in freedom's chorus. 
 We do not know, a single foe, the feud at last is 
 
 ended. 
 The aching hearts have lost their smarts, the 
 
 broken have been mended; 
 
 All's peace and love, for the fiends have died since 
 
 Mammon's pow'r was riven, 
 The thoughts of all, the aims of all, for mutual 
 
 good are given. 
 "From grief and groan to golden throne" — 
 
 we've made this earth a HEAVEN. 
 
 He that is born of a hen is surely the son of 
 a rooster. — Chanticleer. 
 
 If God still keeps His first old mill, no wonder 
 it grinds so slowly. 
 
 NIGHT DETHRONED. 
 
 A cloud came out of the west and grew 
 Till it shaped a robe for Night born new ; 
 A robe of gauze in which set arrayed 
 The diamond stars that winked and played; 
 Glad to be forming a part of the dress 
 
3ntiil S)parb0 13 
 
 In whose fleecy folds Night found caress. 
 
 On her bosom shone Hke a gem the moon, 
 
 Full with a joy she deemed a boon. 
 
 To nestle there on the breast of Night 
 
 Made her pale sweet face shed glorious light. 
 
 The breeze that slept was stirred by love's fire 
 
 And rapidly drew o'er its well-tuned lyre 
 
 Its gentle touch, and such notes arose, 
 
 They woke the trees from their calm repose. 
 
 And soon they joined the lovelorn breeze 
 
 With enchanted words to its melodies. 
 
 And rival both, one sang, one played 
 
 To the Queen — the Night — the silent maid, 
 
 Who gave to neither hope nor sign. 
 
 Nor the least betrayed her heart's design ; 
 
 Till Aurora heard the music rare. 
 
 And rose from her downy bed so fair. 
 
 Her chariot mounted, grasped the reins 
 
 And sped o'er mountains, vales and plains 
 
 To learn the cause of the thrilling voice, 
 
 To see the lyre whose strings rejoice. 
 
 On finding Night, the sought-for prize, 
 
 A jealous flash lit up her eyes; 
 
 She stamped her foot till the skies grew red, 
 
 The stars drew back and the pale moon fled. 
 
 And with voice of birds she called the Day, 
 
 Whose very name drove Night away. 
 
 John D., Jr., leads his Sunday class through 
 the milky way so as to safeguard the path to 
 the Standard Oil. 
 
14 ^ntotl Sparks 
 
 THE POPPY. 
 
 I watched a poppy in my garden 
 Wave before the Southern breeze, 
 
 Saw it bend beneath the pressure 
 And straighten out again with ease. 
 
 I watched a bird Hght on the poppy, 
 From this frail perch, thrill its song; 
 
 Then the bird flew forth, the flower 
 Stood erect and naught was wrong. 
 
 I watched the rain fall on my poppy, 
 And I feared 'twould beat it down; 
 
 The rain filled full the poppy-petals. 
 But the flower did not drown. 
 
 At last a human paused before it, 
 
 Smiled and touched it with the hand— 
 
 The flower trembled — shed its petals — 
 That touch was more than it could stand. 
 
 A book more admired than the Bible is the 
 pocketbook. 
 
 SO IT GOES. 
 
 So it goes, so it goes 
 
 With the thorn, with the rose, 
 
antJil S)parfe0 15 
 
 With our joys, with our woes, 
 All, Time hastily throws 
 Into its water that flows. 
 
 And with hurry they speed, 
 Like the torrent-tossed weed, 
 To where none can succeed, 
 While our broken hearts bleed. 
 Our souls vainly plead. 
 
 So with poverty's stain. 
 The wealth rich men attain. 
 What we lose, or we gain 
 Links into the same chain, 
 Springs from out the same grain. 
 
 And thus, thus must it be 
 In our life's surging sea — 
 In the midst of our glee. 
 Death calls out for his fee 
 We pay up, and are free. 
 
 It is because "In God we Trust" 
 That man to man is so unjust. 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 Our poet has sung of the theme ever new. 
 And has offered some goodly advice; 
 
i6 antoil S)patb0 
 
 And gladly Td follow it out, if I could, 
 And be happy to pay the full price. 
 
 But O, I have tried it again and again. 
 And have found it a failure, I say ; 
 
 For I cannot make love to the lips that are near, 
 When I think of the lips far away. 
 
 The stars, howe'er bright, cannot equal the sun ; 
 
 The same do I find with the lasses. 
 And tho' I do love them; still, there is just one 
 
 That the best of the rest far surpasses. 
 So the rosiest lips be they ever so dear, 
 
 (I admire them most highly, I say,) 
 Still I cannot make love to the lips that are near, 
 
 When I think of your lips far away. 
 
 As the wandering bird in search of its nest. 
 
 Or the laboring bee for its clover; 
 So does my heart yearn on thy bosom to rest. 
 
 In the shade of thy lovelight to hover. 
 That's why tho' the loveliest lips should appear. 
 
 My heart cannot fall as their prey ; 
 And I cannot make love to the lips that are near, 
 
 For I think of your lips far away. 
 
 The coming of evening your tresses recalls. 
 
 And the dawn of the morning your smile. 
 And everything seems to be breathing of thee; 
 
 So there's nothing my thoughts can beguile. 
 And the lips that to others are lovely and dear 
 
 My heart in the least cannot sway; 
 So I cannot make love to the lips that are near, 
 
 When I think of your lips far away. 
 
anlJil S)parb0 17 
 
 TO LUCILE, MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Darling, what is it that you are? 
 
 What magic this, wrapped up in thee? 
 I need but think of you, my star, 
 
 And all I am takes change in me. 
 Like some cow'ring brute, hate's merest spark 
 
 That ever in my soul did reign, 
 Slinks, shame-faced, to some dreary dark, 
 
 To starve and perish there in pain. 
 Each gleam of hope spreads out and grows, 
 
 Till every crevice of my heart 
 Lights up, and with radiance glows. 
 
 That thrills and makes the heart-cords start. 
 Sweet pictures of thy flower face 
 
 Take form, and shape such beauties rare, 
 That fill the mind with joy, to trace. 
 
 And leaves no nook for grief or care. 
 Those eyes of thine bring visions of 
 
 Two charmed lakes wherein reflect 
 The secret spells that bind in love, 
 
 And build a richer intellect. 
 
 WHY? 
 
 Why is my baby's face so sweet? 
 Why has she such two chubby feet? 
 Now can you tell me why? 
 
r8 antiil ©parb$ 
 
 Why is her mouth so rosy fair? 
 Why has she golden, silken hair? 
 
 Now can't you tell me why? 
 Why are her ears two pretty shells, 
 Why are her eyes two sweet blue bells? 
 
 Now can you tell me why? 
 Why has she such a charming nose, 
 Why are her cheeks just like the rose? 
 
 Now can't you tell me why? 
 Why are her lips like ruddy wine; 
 Why do they curve so superfine ? 
 Why do her teeth like ivory shine? 
 
 Now can you tell me why? 
 Why place we in her all our trust? 
 Why? — just because, because we must. 
 
 Now does that tell you why? 
 
 It has often puzzled me to know whether 
 holy spirits are made from holy water. 
 
 A worker's wage is rapidly spent, but the 
 salary of the boss increaseth ever. 
 
 THE TARDY ROSE. 
 
 On its slender stalk a crimson rose 
 
 Sat musing of days gone by; 
 She thought of the fast approaching snows, 
 
 As she viewed the greyish sky. 
 
anbil S)patks 19 
 
 She longed for summer's refreshing dew. 
 
 She craved the breeze's kiss; 
 She gazed at the clouds as past they flew 
 
 Inwrapped in their autumn bUss. 
 
 Her friends were gone, she the only one 
 
 Still lingered an outcast here, 
 She wished a ray of the leaning sun 
 
 Would at least attend her bier. 
 
 But alas! beneath the old grey tree, 
 
 In vain she will wait and sigh; 
 Not in the season she bloomed, so she 
 
 Must lonely, deserted die. 
 
 In vain her cheeks bore their crimson hue, 
 
 To waste did her fragrance go ; 
 She sinned ; her offense was that she grew 
 
 When no other roses grow. 
 
 A spineless slave is a boon to his master, 
 but one that revolteth is as an arrow in the idler's 
 flesh. 
 
 KEEP A-GOING. 
 
 Have you reached the aim you sought for? 
 Have you gained the thing you wrought for? 
 Greater things are to be fought for, 
 Keep a-going. 
 
20 anbil ©parb0 
 
 Have you found life's pathways dreary? 
 Have life's burdens made you weary? 
 Strive on, things will yet grow cheery, 
 Keep a-going. 
 
 Have you been by friends forsaken ? 
 By cares and worries overtaken? 
 Then to life's bright side awaken. 
 Keep a-going. 
 
 Are you now by friends surrounded? 
 Are your actions proudly sounded? 
 Be not by your past deeds grounded, 
 Keep a-going. 
 
 Ever onward, each time better, 
 Mend an act, a word, a letter, 
 Thus you'll break your clogging fetter, 
 Keep a-going. 
 
 The wicked is snared by the transgression 
 of his lips, but the law fears the purse, and 
 the purse is his. 
 
 ? 
 
 So short a while our lives were sweet, 
 
 It scarcely seems a day. 
 So long a while the storm-winds beat, 
 
 It almost seems since aye. 
 
antiil @)parfe0 21 
 
 O, why will hearts that once were one 
 Be reft, and bleed, and strain? 
 
 Must fleeting joy be e'er outrun 
 By dragging care and pain ? 
 
 Must every life be likened to 
 
 The wintry season when 
 The short day scarcely glimmers thru 
 
 To die in night again ? 
 
 O, must man's discontented soul 
 
 In endless darkness grope 
 Forever? And must pleasure's whole 
 
 Lean but on futile hope? 
 
 Lying lips are abomination to the Lord and 
 man, but they hkewise are the life of trade. 
 
 The wicked are overthrown (sometimes) but 
 always gain the decision nevertheless, while the 
 house of the righteous continues to slave for- 
 ever. 
 
 TRUTH, THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 I opened wide the windows of my heart, 
 
 So that the passing breeze might bring to me. 
 
 Some message from the human flowers that 
 grow, 
 And fill me with a spirit bold and free. 
 
22 antoil @patfe0 
 
 Beside the largest window sat my soul ; 
 
 And gazed upon the thoughts of human kind, 
 Which, like so many vapors in the skies, 
 
 Float aimless to the dictates of the wind. 
 
 But soon the skies grew dark from gathering 
 clouds, 
 'Twas plain a storm would prompt come into 
 birth ; 
 Ere long, thought I, its thunder voice be heard, 
 To growl, and cast its frown upon the earth. 
 
 Among the clouds that gathered, two there were 
 That seemed to breathe with power long 
 amassed, 
 
 And each of them seemed anxious to pursue 
 The other's course, from counter quarter cast. 
 
 And as they sped, they took on human form, 
 And donned an armor each, with sword in hand 
 
 And one was black and one was blue with rage, 
 As at the marked-off center each took stand. 
 
 Soon was each weapon flashing clear of sheath, — 
 Falsehood and Greed upon each other fell, 
 
 As each stabbed each, their savage laughs and 
 cries 
 Made atmosphere resound with groan and yell. 
 
 Fire flashes rose as weapon, weapon met, 
 
 Till the darkest nitches of the earth found light. 
 
 Then seen from far was fast approaching Truth, 
 Carved on his shield was Justice, Love and 
 Right. 
 
With a mighty blow Truth struck the two that 
 fought ; 
 Both dropped to earth, two heaps of worthless 
 clay. 
 The darkness broke asunder, and the skies 
 Shone clear upon a new, grand smiling day. 
 
 My soul grew light, for wafted now the breeze, 
 A happiness, too great for tongue to tell; 
 
 A joy in which all human kind took part, 
 Came laden with perfume o'er hill and dale. 
 
 Christ was sold by one of His followers for 
 thirty pieces of silver; almost any of His pres- 
 ent followers would sell Him now for about ten 
 coppers, if they could only get that much. 
 
 The book most widely admired is the pocket- 
 book. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Recollections, recollections. 
 
 Oh, ye memories of my youth ! 
 Ye are ghosts, whose resurrections 
 
 Are enwrapt in garbs of truth. 
 How I love your presence near me! 
 
 How my heart beats wild with joy ! 
 For your very sight doth cheer me, 
 
 Turns me back into a boy. 
 
24 antoil S)patfe0 
 
 Once again I roam the prairies, 
 
 Gathering flowers about the slough, 
 Pick the angels, earth's sweet fairies 
 
 Covered o'er with morning dew. 
 Watch the sun in all its splendor 
 
 Come and bring the birds their lay. 
 Watch the breezes, low and tender, 
 
 Wake the grasses into play. 
 
 Once again at twilight seated 
 
 On my grand sire's rocking knee, 
 With my long day's play completed, 
 
 Offering up my usual plea: 
 "Grandpa, tell me, please, my story. 
 
 For I soon must go to bed." 
 And the loving man, so hoary. 
 
 Changes to a child instead. 
 
 Dwelling with me in my pleasure, 
 
 Builds me castles in the air. 
 Knowing each and every treasure 
 
 That my childish heart would share. 
 Mem'ry only has the power 
 
 To bring back that noble breast. 
 Where my head in twilight's hour 
 
 Found its sweetest, grandest rest. 
 
 When the Devil failed in his endeavor to 
 tempt Christ he at least kept his temper; but 
 when Jesus failed in His endeavor to get figs 
 from a tree, out of season, He lost His temper 
 — see the point? 
 
DREARY NIGHT. 
 
 (I) 
 
 Oh, dreary night, oh, wretched night, 
 
 Thou and my heart are kin ; 
 From each the sun has taken flight 
 
 As though our souls were sin. 
 Oh, drizzly night, oh, rainy night, 
 
 My aching heart's the same ; 
 My salty tears have quenched the light 
 
 That comes from hope's bright flame. 
 Oh, heavy night, oh, miry night, 
 
 My heart seems part of thee; 
 For sunken deep has Sorrow's blight, 
 
 Joy's every tendency. 
 Oh, weeping night, oh, sobbing night, 
 
 Has care drained pleasure's urn, 
 So that e'en truth with all its might 
 
 Can't make that sap return? 
 Oh, sluggish night, oh, fickle night, 
 
 The East is turning gray ; 
 Thy tears, thy sobs, thy crushing fright 
 
 Will vanish with the day. 
 
 (2) 
 
 THE CONSOLATION. 
 
 Cease thy sobbing, heart of mine. 
 Cling to hope as clings the vine 
 To the wall on which it creeps. 
 
26 antoil S)parb» 
 
 Mocking at the wind that sweeps. 
 
 Cease thy sighing, heart of pain, 
 
 Let thy sobs hke falHng rain 
 
 On the green earth's loving breast 
 
 Sink into eternal rest. 
 
 Cease thy moaning, heart of care, 
 
 End forever wild despair. 
 
 Man is but a fancy toy 
 
 Whose charm, ranking cares destroy. 
 
 Cease thy aching, heart of woe. 
 
 Life is but a passing show, 
 
 Pining only brings decay. 
 
 Cease thy brooding, join the play. 
 
 Cease thy wailing, heart of mine, 
 
 Turn to pleasure's harp, resign 
 
 Thyself to its tender touch, 
 
 Pleasure can reward thee much. 
 
 A prudent man tells not all he knows, but a 
 business man lies to beat hell. 
 
 A short weight is abomination to the poor, 
 but it much increaseth the rich man's wallet. 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 High up a mountain's towering crest. 
 In an eternal bed of snow; 
 
 A fountain lay cradled, caressed ; 
 Still it yearned for vales below. 
 
It longed, it sought, it craved to play 
 
 Among the daisies, growing fair. 
 How it did wish to meet the day 
 
 When it would leave the mountain's care. 
 
 One summer's noon, kissed by the sun, 
 
 It arose with a jolly start; 
 And dreams of joy, and dreams of fun 
 
 Caused to o'erflow its eager heart. 
 
 It bounded forth to the valleys, where 
 The flowers beckoned for its touch, 
 
 To wind in here, and curl out there, 
 Its eager spirit hungered much. 
 
 It kissed the daisy, kissed the rose, 
 
 And gayly kissed the daffodil ; 
 Nor paused where first its aim it chose, 
 
 But ran on singing, "I'm a rill." 
 
 It leaped o'er pebbles, circled stones, 
 While brighter, fairer, grew its gleam; 
 
 And soon it changed its infant tones, 
 
 With child voice sang, **I am a stream." 
 
 Thus bounding over rocks it sped, 
 
 And delved through mounds with staunch set 
 brow; 
 Widening, deepening its sandy bed, 
 
 Singing, "I am a river now." 
 
 And ever rippling onward pressed, 
 Yet from its longing never free ; 
 
28 3nDiI §)park0 
 
 With steamers on its noble breast 
 It onward rolls to reach the sea. 
 
 The ways of the Lord are just — ^too comical 
 for anything many times. 
 
 When the purse is fat then vice finds pardon, 
 but where poverty is, a tiny shame cries much 
 aloud. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Oh, Life ! thy pathways are so hard, 
 Ofttimes I gladly would retard. 
 But then the eyes of Duty gaze, 
 They spur me on thy thorny ways. 
 I speed, I clinch with aching breast. 
 With groundless hope to reach some crest, 
 Some pleasant spot where I could stay 
 To pass a happy hour away. 
 
 I've journeyed hard, Fve traveled fast, 
 Many a heap of ashes passed, 
 Many a mark where others stayed. 
 Where they their heavy burdens laid. 
 But none seemed suitable to me, 
 For, in those marks, methinks, I see 
 Discontentment ; in them I read 
 That he who there paused was not freed. 
 
He did not rest because he willed 
 But rather 'cause his heart was stilled. 
 He did not find there what he sought. 
 But vainly left there all he wrought. 
 
 Each aimed to spend a while with thee, 
 One in great wealth, one in great glee. 
 One by plunder, and one by crime, 
 And one by leading a course sublime. 
 
 Each one labored with all his might. 
 Each struggled bravely in the fight, 
 Each, while striving, battling fell, 
 What was his gain ? — no man can tell. 
 
 Oh, Life! will I thus struggle, too — 
 Wage on, in hopes of reaching you? 
 Stretch out my hands only to learn 
 My time has come, **To dust return." 
 
 Is this the longing, is this the strife. 
 
 Is this what mankind christened "Life"? 
 
 Yes, this is life, none can retreat, 
 
 All journey on with bleeding feet. 
 
 There's this reward, who makes his aim 
 Glory, self, pride, or wealth, finds shame, 
 E'en his ashes the wild winds blow. 
 With never a mark that true hearts know. 
 
 While he who gives a helping hand 
 To aid another climbing friend. 
 
30 antoil S)park0 
 
 Finds there, part of the pleasure that 
 The honest soul is aiming at. 
 
 But none can reach a place of rest 
 Where peace will sit in pleasure dressed. 
 Actions, yearnings, longings, strife, 
 'Tis these, 'tis these that make up Life. 
 
 A humble toiler gaineth favor of his master, 
 but after 35 the dump heap for his. 
 
 A man should not be established by wicked- 
 ness, but business is business, and pelf does love 
 its own. 
 
 YOU PRIDE THE POET. 
 
 You pride the poet for the song. 
 You praise the painter for the art, 
 
 You blame the sinner for the wrong. 
 You curse the arrow for the dart. 
 
 The painter draws from Nature's art. 
 The poet sings the people's song. 
 
 The arrow does the archer's part. 
 The sinner acts the church's wrong. 
 
 The thoughts of the righteous are right, but 
 if you would succeed in business — forget it. 
 
antJil S)patks 31 
 
 THE PUBLIC WAY. 
 
 I often read the passing crowd; 
 
 For what their faces tell 
 Are tales from love's own paradise 
 
 And wails from deepest hell. 
 
 Who reads the crowd must learn to know 
 
 All that the worlds contain, 
 The finest touch of joy and art, 
 
 The pangs of care and pain. 
 
 What brush can paint the lover's look. 
 
 The mother's angel smile; 
 The beggar's haggard, hungered form. 
 
 The idler's gaudy style ? — 
 
 The street-maid's eye with tempting flash, 
 The *'well-born's" haughty scorn. 
 
 The care-worn, shop-sapped, flesh-machine 
 That aches from morn to morn? 
 
 What pages ever kissed by type 
 
 Can give the toiler's sigh, 
 Can give the dull and listless step 
 
 Of crushed youth, lagging by? 
 
 Recall the laugh of careless mind 
 
 Or splendor's glow portray. 
 Describe the heartless traffic's voice. 
 
 As does the public way? 
 
32 anbil ^parb0 
 
 Where is the master hand to play 
 
 The accents of the street, 
 Resound the flushed consumptive's cough, 
 
 Starvation's faltering feet? 
 
 All the philanthropic shelves 
 
 That pilfered pelf can raise 
 Contain but snatches of what's read 
 
 Upon the public ways. 
 
 The fool is satisfied with the sweat of his 
 brow, but the master steals the fruits of many 
 hands. 
 
 One of the most gluttonous creatures is the 
 hen; she eats her food by the peck and sev- 
 eral pecks per minute. 
 
 COMPLAINT OF A LAST YEAR'S LEAF. 
 
 Two last year's leaves on a fresh spring bough 
 
 Conversed one with the other : 
 "These upshoots here, O dear, O dear. 
 
 The aged they would smother. 
 
 "I well recall when I was young, 
 
 Way back in by-gone season ; 
 The young were staid, in fact, afraid 
 
 To balk their elders' reason. 
 
3ntJil @patb0 33 
 
 "Not so to-day. Our ways seem dead, 
 
 Past customs they're deserting; 
 For now we see, on every tree, 
 
 With bird and wind they're flirting. 
 
 "They have no care for time nor tide, 
 
 Their Hfe to sport is given, 
 How sad 'twill be for us to see 
 
 Them suffer Hell, from Heaven." 
 
 And the shrunken leaf a shiver gave, 
 
 And then resumed its croaking: 
 "They grow and spread, and shadows shed, 
 
 Our very sunlight choking. 
 
 "They seem to think that they alone 
 
 Are for this planet fitted. 
 For Intellect breeds disrespect — 
 
 They claim the first's increasing." 
 
 The young leaves swayed upon the tree 
 As though convulsed with laughter; 
 
 A titter was heard from breeze and bird 
 In answer to the rafter. 
 
 The anger of the last year's leaves 
 Waxed stronger and still stronger. 
 
 Till the south wind with her heart so kind 
 Could stand their scold no longer. 
 
 And so she tore them from the bough, 
 
 And to the earth they scurried. 
 "They could not grow with the rest, and so," 
 
 Said she, " Tis best they're buried." 
 
34 aniJil §)patk0 
 
 YOU'VE BUT TO TRY. 
 
 From the mine's vast depth comes forth the cry ; 
 A voice is heard from the fair blue sky; 
 The hills re-echo, and cry the plains — 
 "O, Sons of toil, cast off your chains." 
 
 On the gale and breeze the call is heard ; 
 'Tis woven in the song of bird ; 
 'Tis stamped on every ocean wave — 
 "O, Sons of toil, why do you slave?" 
 
 It's the song of every babbling stream ; 
 It is read in every sun-cast beam 
 In nature's every deed 'tis shown — 
 "O, Sons of toil, the world's your own." 
 
 'Tis heard in the thunder's deafening crash 
 'Tis seen in the lightning's blinding flash 
 'Tis the plea of every star on high — 
 "O, ye Sons of toil, you've but to try." 
 
 A man shall be commended according to his 
 wisdom, but if he is rich he needs no sense. 
 
 A TINT OF PESSIMISM. 
 
 Weary soul of human mortal. 
 Curtained e'er by unknown veils ; 
 
antiil @park0 35 
 
 Groping blindly 'mongst the shadows, 
 Seeking what can ne'er be found. 
 
 Vacant are the halls of pleasure, 
 Brittle are the walls of hope, 
 Echoes only haunt the chambers 
 Where men deem contentment dwells. 
 
 Childish is Ambition's striving; 
 Dreary heart, thy longing vain — 
 The vast ocean of endeavors 
 Never yet hath known a calm. 
 
 And the soul that strives on, thinking 
 Rest will crown his efforts soon, 
 Must still learn through hard experience 
 That he follows a mirage. 
 
 He who seems to be unweary, 
 Bravely battling Life's rough gale, 
 Who appears to be contented, 
 Smiling as he labors on, 
 
 Is Zeno's child, searching Hellas, 
 
 A Stoic heedless of himself, 
 
 Knowing well and full decided: 
 
 Rest comes when the heart throbs cease. 
 
 Darwin was wrong — most men descend from 
 the goat. You can tell it by the way they swal- 
 low all rubbish in Capitalism's back yard. 
 
36 antJil ^patk0 
 
 FREEDOM'S REQUEST. 
 
 Bright is the morning, darkness has fled. 
 
 The heavens unclouded and blue ; 
 Sweet sing the birds in the trees o'erhead, 
 
 The flowers are shedding their dew. 
 Nature is charming, throbbing with glee, 
 
 But you, Oh, my children still sleep, 
 Drive away slumber, rise up and see 
 
 What beauties the morning can reap. 
 
 Fresh is the breeze, a sweet, soothing balm, 
 
 Oh, rise ! let it fan your pale cheek ; 
 The rose's scent your pulses will calm, 
 
 I know 'tis hard toil made you weak. 
 Come to the stream that murmurs near by 
 
 And bathe in it your fevered brow; 
 Hasten, for soon the sun will be high, 
 
 Oh! waste not a moment, come now. 
 
 Come, let me lead, I know a large wood 
 
 Far, far from the city's wild din, 
 There in its shade you will rest as you should, 
 
 The sun's burning rays can't come in ; 
 Wake then ! my children, rise up, O rise, 
 
 For the time is fast speeding away; 
 Remember this truth, everything dies. 
 
 You, too, before long will be gray. 
 
 Your weakness will fade, your covers will fall 
 If once you find courage to start, 
 
Come, I pray thee ! give ear to my call, 
 As stalwart men, each act your part. 
 
 The world — its fruits can all be your own 
 If only you wake from your sleep, 
 
 You've naught to loose and naught to atone, 
 Rise up! 'tis now harvest, go reap. 
 
 Our present laws seem to Whip-poor-Will for 
 what Katy-did. 
 
 Engaged coruples like to be knot-tied; mar- 
 ried rjuples not tied. 
 
 ^ £& £&, 
 ^ ^ sK 
 
 AS FOR ME— THE GOD OF LOVE. 
 
 Let Bacchus drown the cares of those 
 
 Who like his smell beneath their nose; 
 
 And those who bow to Mammon's shrine 
 
 Let them their souls to him resign. 
 
 And those who quaff the draught of fame, 
 
 Let them continue in their game. 
 
 And they who sport with wreaths of smoke, 
 
 And they who revel in a joke ; 
 
 And they who cast their coin to priest 
 
 For all such I care not the least. 
 But as for me the God of Love 
 Is the one God I'm victim of. 
 On bended knee before his throne 
 I offer up my heart's deep groan, 
 
38 antoil @parb0 
 
 Countless prayers in sobs and sighs 
 
 That from my throbbing heart's crypt rise. 
 
 They bring me pain, they bring me grief, 
 
 And yet in them I find reHef. 
 
 Each arrow sent with Cupid's dart 
 
 E'en tho' it stabs my aching heart 
 
 Is still so sweet I would not change 
 
 It for Aladdin's lamp so strange ; 
 
 Unless, 'tcould deeper sink my soul 
 
 To drink and qualf from Cupid's bowl. 
 
 But this, I know, can ne'er befall 
 
 For unto Love I've given all. 
 
 My hopes, my cares, my joys, and glee, 
 
 That unto death his slave I be. 
 
 Yes, as for me, the God of love 
 
 Is the one God I'm victim of. 
 
 Few go thru the exams, of life with even as 
 much as a passing mark. 
 
 The coldness of our courts may be due to 
 just-ice. 
 
 GOD AND TEDDY. 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt has been much wrought 
 up about getting some anthem established as na- 
 tional. I spent so many sleepless nights worry- 
 ing over Roosevelt's worrying that I resolved to 
 end our worries by creating an anthem for him. 
 
antoil S)park0 39 
 
 The following God-send came to me in either 
 a dream or a vision. I do not just now recall 
 which : 
 
 God of war, of strife and battle, 
 God of all dumb-driven cattle, 
 Why let cease its roar and rattle 
 
 When lives are so cheap? 
 With the Bible, sword, and cannon, 
 You can pile good man and man on, 
 Till they tower Mount Lebanon 
 
 In an endless heap. 
 
 By the aid of church and preacher. 
 And with "patriotic" teacher, 
 War can be the grandest feature 
 
 Of this noble land. 
 Did you ever pause to ponder, 
 How fair a sight, how grand a wonder, 
 'Tis to see men torn asunder 
 
 In the battle's trend? 
 
 God and Teddy, both benighted. 
 Are ye blind, or just near-sighted, 
 Not to see we're sorely plighted — ■ 
 
 Cursed with warless peace? 
 Nations that are far below us, 
 In licensed murder still outgrow us, 
 'Tis enough in fits to throw us — ' 
 
 Make our sorrow cease. 
 
 We have men with blood and muscle. 
 Who have but for jobs to hustle, 
 
40 antiil ©patk0 
 
 Please, let Tafty make them tussle 
 
 With some goaded foe. 
 We bring these queries now before ye, 
 God and Teddy we adore ye, 
 Give us blood, we beg, implore ye; 
 
 Heed us here below. 
 
 Many a belle lost her pull by having too many 
 hang on her string. 
 
 Would someone please explain the difference, 
 to me all trusts are STEAL trusts. 
 
 TO A CHURCH BELL. 
 
 Cease, ye bell of superstition ; 
 
 Let your voice be hushed for aye ; 
 Dead the fires of your perdition, 
 
 Hell no longer seeks for prey. 
 Quenched the embers of God's passion, 
 
 Ashes only now remain ; 
 God himself is out of fashion. 
 
 Ne'er to be in vogue again. 
 Cease you, then, your savage pealing, 
 
 Relic of the vanished past ; 
 You no longer stir man's feeling; 
 
 Reason's come to stay at last. 
 And your churches' space is needed 
 
 For a better purpose far; 
 
Truth your worth has superseded, 
 No longer shall you justice mar. 
 
 Useless is your priest and prayer; 
 Certain is your well-earned doom ; 
 
 The sound you now give to the air 
 Is your death march to the tomb. 
 
 Friendship seldom sails against the wind. 
 All praise him to whom the blessings flow. 
 
 THE WORN-OUT WAGE SLAVE. 
 
 The man is old, and weak, and weary; 
 It rains and the wind is woeful dreary; 
 He shakes and clings to a dark smoky wall, 
 And envies the dead, wet leaves that fall. 
 For the man is old and weary. 
 
 His life is cold, and dark, and dreary; 
 Hard toil and care have made him weary; 
 His thoughts dare not even turn to the past. 
 For the hopes of youth lie thick in the blast. 
 His life has been made so dreary. 
 
 Be calm, sad heart, and cease repining; 
 In a parlor grand, on silks reclining, 
 Is he who plunders the workers all ; 
 Is he who has crushed thee to this wall; 
 His life is not dark and dreary. 
 
42 anlJil S)parb0 
 
 Stir up, crushed soul in vain repining, 
 Each cloud, 'tis said, has a silver lining, 
 Be up and help to regain your own, 
 Salvation lies with thee alone, 
 End the days so dark and dreary. 
 
 The mare stood on the dumping car, 
 As the hand of cruel death shook her 
 
 But before she fell, so I hear them tell, 
 The beef trust came and took her. 
 
 A SERMON. 
 
 Twice base-born he who cannot say : 
 *T know there is a God on high." 
 
 The fact the opposite does prove, 
 For God's sake, man, it pays to lie. 
 
 Nor church nor creed, e'er called for truth, 
 Tis faith, pure faith, religions crave — 
 
 Oh, yes, they likewise wish your coin. 
 For which they'll bless you to the grave. 
 
 If reason turns you from the priest. 
 Heed not its voice, but stuff your ear 
 
 With pulpit hash, and you will get 
 In heaven what you needed here. 
 
That is, you'll get it — where the cat 
 
 Her little fancy ribbon bore — 
 You'll get it all in heaven, if 
 
 You chance to find the "Golden Shore." 
 
 To pave a beach with gold, you know, 
 
 Takes cash. The church the contract made. 
 
 They need much more to do the job 
 In time for your expected shade. 
 
 So give, and freely give, my friend, 
 
 The plans are all completed, and 
 God's minister waits for you now; 
 
 Make haste to fill his greedy hand. 
 
 If you would know what road it be 
 You travel now — on faith or truth? 
 
 If with your parson you agree. 
 
 You're right ; if not, you're wrong, forsooth. 
 
 But ere I close, remember this — 
 
 I'm speaking from the parson's view. 
 
 Now read o'er stanza one again, 
 For it contains a splendid cue. 
 
 I got that tip from a clergyman, 
 
 And he told it from the pulpit grand. 
 
 He didn't say it just like that, 
 But then, you see, I understand. 
 
 Landlords, like barbers, give you a close shave 
 with their ''good" raisers. 
 
44 ainuil S)parb0 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 Oh ! she hath eyes that haunt me, 
 
 Eyes Hke the stars above; 
 They charm, they lure, they taunt me. 
 
 These orbs of magic love. 
 
 Some day when you've grown weary 
 
 Of this coquettish life, 
 That made my soul so dreary. 
 
 That filled my days with strife. 
 
 When weary grown of flitting. 
 
 And other loves depart. 
 When those who sought, are twitting, 
 
 And grief hath pierced thy heart. 
 
 Then come to me, my dearest. 
 My heart will still be thine. 
 
 The truest soul, the nearest. 
 To cheer thee, will be mine. 
 
 MAID OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 (Suggested by Longfellow's "Maidenhood.") 
 
 Maiden! with the fiery eyes. 
 
 In whose orbs true Freedom lies 
 
 Like the grey in dawning skies. 
 
Thou, whose thought the Truth has won, 
 Thou canst have false vogues undone, 
 That for ages long have run. 
 
 Freedom calls, her voice is sweet. 
 Help it make life's joy complete — 
 Apathy spells vile defeat. 
 
 Let thy love-lit eager glance 
 Note the Present's swift advance 
 Toward the Future's broad expanse. 
 
 Naught can check this rushing stream, 
 Grander far than poet's theme — 
 'Twill turn to fact Joy's present dream. 
 
 Tell those cursed with indecision. 
 This is no mere dream Elysian : — 
 Facts to laggards seem but vision. 
 
 Voices speaking from the past 
 Vow that Slavery's doom is cast; 
 Love alone was born to last. 
 
 Tyrants weave in vain their snare. 
 They will only catch despair — 
 If we guide our steps with care. 
 
 Ere the morning turns to noon 
 
 Their efforts all will lie in ruin : 
 
 So string your lyre to Freedom's tune. 
 
4$ antiil 8)patb0 
 
 Dolts held sway while Justice slumbered 
 But now are their moments numbered ; 
 Freedom smiles to the encumbered. 
 
 Deep the slaves have sowed their power; 
 Nearer draws the harvest hour: 
 Then you'll see how braggarts cower. 
 
 They that wore the sword or crown 
 Will ply their part beside the clown 
 And turn their skin to labor's brown. 
 
 Therefore, MAID, to thee we plead, 
 YOUTH and vigor both we need 
 Join the fray, help TRUTH succeed. 
 
 When a scoundrel comes to court a lawyer 
 does the wooing. 
 
 Love has a twin sister with keener vision 
 known as Sympathy. 
 
 FREEDOM. 
 (After the song: "Father, Dear Father.") 
 
 Freedom, Oh Freedom, do come to us now. 
 Loud sounds the clank of our chains; 
 
 They say that you come to your children in need- 
 Oh come, then, and end our long pains. 
 
The times are now hard, the wolf's at the door, 
 And Mammon still strengthens its grasp; 
 
 Labor grows cheaper while food grows more 
 dear, 
 And poverty tightens its clasp. 
 
 Freedom, Oh Freedom, do come to us now, 
 
 The chains are so tight that we bleed. 
 All the laws are corrupt and strangled lies truth, 
 
 While honor is servant to greed. 
 The masses are bridled, the rich hold the reins, 
 
 And speak not, but lay on the lash — 
 True manhood is crushed and turned into pelf, 
 
 For profit is dearer than flesh. 
 
 Freedom, Oh Freedom, do come to us now, 
 
 For soon will thy help come too late ; 
 Our liberties taken, our strength all subdued, 
 
 The spark of our love turned to hate. 
 We'll be like the oxen, the beasts of the plough. 
 
 Or still worse, the common machine — 
 Come then. Oh Freedom, while still there is time, 
 
 Oh, come while you still can redeem. 
 
 A WHITE-SLAVE'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 I have dodged the sergeant's grafty paw, 
 Have fought the cold, defied the law, 
 Have tramped the dreary, long night through, 
 Stopped countless men and pleased a few. 
 
48 anbil §)patb0 
 
 And now I stand, to greet the morn, 
 
 An object vile, a thing forlorn; 
 
 A creature void of Love, of truth, 
 
 A mock'ry to my virgin youth, 
 
 Scores of passionate lips I've felt. 
 
 And to as many my kisses dealt; 
 
 All men's hireling I have been. 
 
 The "pure" with me have left their sin. 
 
 I've been embraced by arms of fame, 
 
 Have been the mate to brutes of shame, 
 
 I've proved the toy to men of wealth. 
 
 Walked hand in hand with those of stealth. 
 
 For such must be the harlot's lot — 
 
 A sponge to dry up virtue's blot. 
 
 Life, as I look back, I see 
 
 What I was, and am, and still must be. 
 Far back, far back, when life was new, 
 When joys were many, cares but few, 
 When mother lived — O, mother dear, 
 'Tis well, 'tis well, you are not here. 
 Speed on, O, Time, erase, erase 
 Of that sweet day each mark, each trace ; 
 Nor pause too long on later scenes — 
 The curtain draw upon my teens. 
 
 1 cannot, dare not view the past, 
 Enough ! 'tis vanished in the blast. 
 And now, the NOW in which I drown, 
 Where all seem glad to help me down, 
 Where not a hand is stretched to me. 
 Where not a friendly soul I see, 
 Where not a beacon-light will guide 
 Me o'er the shoals or maddening tide — 
 
Vm mad myself to talk like this, 
 What right have I to hope or bliss? 
 I who must trade my soul for coin, 
 Who for my bread the vilest join, 
 I, the damned, the vulture's prey, 
 A courtesan of the great white way. 
 Ere long I'll be a cast-off shell, 
 Waiting lone for the call from hell, 
 A useless jade, and shoved aside. 
 For all to sneer at, rail, deride; 
 No longer fit my form to yield, 
 A prospect for the Potters' Field — 
 But now I'll seek a bed, for when 
 The sun has reached the west again, 
 The moon awake, stars brightly set, 
 Fresh and fair must I be "to let." 
 For e'en when there's no soul to save, 
 There's a mouth to feed and thirst to lave. 
 O God, that they who trample me. 
 Should wear the crown of chastity ! 
 
 As ye sew so shall ye rip. 
 
 When ignorance is bliss — we get prosperity 
 messages. 
 
 ANSWER WORKERS. 
 
 Whyfore stand you, brawny toilers, 
 Like the trees in closing autumn 
 
50 antoil ^park0 
 
 Stand in silence dumb permitting 
 Every vulgar frost and whirlwind 
 Pluck them of the fruits they labored, 
 Rob them of their leaves and herbage, 
 Trample on their sprigs so tender? 
 
 Whyfore act you like the savage, 
 Who allowed the shrewd intruder 
 For a bit of sparkling trinket 
 Steal away their homes and pastures. 
 Gold and silver, yea, their birthright. 
 Even slowly crush their nation 
 Till ere long in grim extinction, 
 All their race shall be forgotten. 
 
 Know you not who are the masters? 
 It is in your might to conquer ! 
 Nay, it is your task and honor, 
 For your right to stand up boldly ! 
 What is yours no thief should plunder, 
 Every day you serve the idler, 
 Coward-like you act and wrongful, 
 To yourselves, your friends and offspring. 
 
 Wake then, men of brain and sinew. 
 Times are rife, and cry for action. 
 Let the dawn of truth and justice 
 Penetrate your rusty teachings. 
 Rid you of your superstitions. 
 Yours the earth ; then why not take it. 
 And enjoy the wealth it offers, 
 As you now permit your spoilers? 
 
antJil ©patb0 51 
 
 THE BETTER DAY. 
 
 The evening sun had vanished, 
 The birds to the branches fled; 
 
 The factories' hum grown silent, 
 But loud the homeward tread. 
 
 I scanned the weary faces 
 
 That left those dungeons drear; 
 
 I thought I gazed at shadows 
 Which twiHght makes appear. 
 
 For surely naught that's human 
 Such form could ever take, 
 
 So withered, lean, and haggard, 
 'Twas strange they did not break. 
 
 Some staggered, staggered forward, 
 
 And labored not to fall ; 
 'Twas they who long had followed 
 
 Necessity's dire call. 
 
 And yea, among them children, 
 Whose 'teens were distant still, 
 
 Dragged their weary muscles 
 With dull and broken will. 
 
 What do these tender flowers 
 Among those stunted stalks? 
 
 For whom the grassy bowers, 
 If they must haunt these walks? 
 
52 anbil ^patfe0 
 
 For whom the paths of pleasure 
 If these bear yokes of slaves? 
 
 For whom the zephyr's music? — 
 These dwell in living graves. 
 
 And even they, the old ones, 
 Are aged in all but years ; 
 
 They've toiled away their marrow, 
 And prospered but in tears. 
 
 Why pass they by the mansions, 
 In sickening holes to dwell? 
 
 Why sniff they at the cookings — 
 Is only theirs the smell? 
 
 And the shadowy faces answer 
 What the tortured souls don't know 
 
 Some day, some day we'll conquer 
 And crush our sapping foe. 
 
 Some day, we'll have the palace, 
 Have all that is our own; 
 
 Already wakes the murmur. 
 
 And justice prompts the groan. 
 
 'Tis slow, but sure, our battle 
 
 For Justice will prevail, 
 The slave will break his shackle, 
 
 The Tyrant's rule must fail. 
 
 When thieves fall out honest folks hear of an 
 auto wreck. 
 
3tttiil Sparb0 53 
 
 WE ARE NEARING OUR GOAL. 
 
 We are nearing the goal where our ambition 
 leads 
 And no hand of a foe shall e'er daunt us. 
 We will strive for that goal with our thoughts 
 and our deeds 
 In spite of all hardships that front us. 
 
 We have mounted the gallows, have felt the 
 sharp spear, 
 Have been fed on the diet of lead; 
 We have swum in our gore till the flag we hold 
 dear 
 Took the hue of the crimson we shed. 
 
 We are nearing our goal and we'll reach it at 
 last, 
 For all that our foes have bereft us 
 Of thousands of souls, — in the mould of Truth 
 cast, 
 There are countless and countless still left us. 
 
 And these shall march on till the vict'ry is won, 
 The enemy's rank has grown weak, 
 
 They falter, they wrangle; the crimes they have 
 done 
 To hide them, in vain they now seek. 
 
 And when they have fallen for die falsehood 
 must ; 
 When they who now hound us shall perish; 
 
54 antifl @patfe0 
 
 Then Liberty'll raise her fair head from the dust, 
 And we'll gain the goal that we cherish. 
 
 Most people knit their brows before they 
 darn a thing. 
 
 The judge charges the jury and the bribers 
 pay. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Behold, the brightest gem that's set 
 
 In lover's crown am I, 
 My greatest wish, be cost what may, 
 
 'Tis mine for just a sigh. 
 My merest smile out-values far 
 
 The miser's treasured purse; 
 A single word, a frown of mine 
 
 Blights more than prophet's curse; 
 For I'm a ruler's concubine, 
 
 My slightest wish is law, 
 I laugh at custom's whining ways, 
 
 For naught, I stand in awe. 
 There's many a wife in legal bonds 
 
 With envy stares at me — 
 But she sees only what I'm now 
 
 Not what I soon may be. 
 Fain would I chase this fiendish thought, 
 
 I hate the future's grin, 
 
antiil @patfe0 55 
 
 I'd rather live in just to-day,- 
 
 And joy in love and sin. 
 But oft when flickers low the light 
 
 When my own course I view, 
 I ponder deep the time to come 
 
 When beauty's gifts Til rue. 
 When brighter eyes and smile than mine 
 
 Will lead him to his mirth, 
 When I'll be the rejected one 
 
 The useless one on earth — 
 For I'm a rich man's mistress fair, 
 
 A human butterfly; 
 A thing to sport a season through, 
 
 And then — in grief to die. 
 
 The Polish people have a saying: "Much 
 cloud, little rain." In our glorious country we 
 may say: "Much noise, little brain." 
 
 There is no vessel so air-tight but truth will 
 leak out. 
 
 TO THE DISCOURAGERS. 
 
 Back ye traitors to all justice, 
 Ye who cannot bear the right, 
 
 Ye who in the hour of morning 
 
 Still cling to the thoughts of night. 
 
 Ye who love to lodge in shadows, 
 Ye who prate the sluggards rhymes, 
 
56 anbil ^parb0 
 
 Ye who fear to greet the future 
 And march on to better times. 
 
 Back, I tell ye, if ye dare not 
 
 Bravely join the gallant band, 
 If ye will not aid the strivers, 
 
 If ye have no helping hand. 
 Slink in silence to your dwellings, 
 
 Hug your darkness human moles ; — 
 Why hang on like gnawing cancers. 
 
 Ye who know no honest goals? 
 
 They who struggle need pure breathing 
 
 And ye foul the decent air. 
 Like a carcass in June weather. 
 
 Poisoned atmosphere ye bear. 
 Life is action, thought is progress. 
 
 If ye will not live nor think, 
 Hold your tongues, — in silence perish, 
 
 Back into your hovels shrink. 
 
 Truth is with us, we can't falter, 
 
 Her bright pathway leads to fame: 
 And we have no time for laggards 
 
 Lacking courage, hope and aim. 
 We will climb unto the summit. 
 
 While ye fondle your decay; 
 We will rear a grand republic, 
 
 While ye waste your dust away. 
 
 The trouble with most people is they can't see 
 the point till after they've sat on it. 
 
3nt)il ^patk0 S7 
 
 THE "GONE ASTRAY," 
 
 I met one day, on my busy way 
 A maiden the world calls ''gone astray." 
 Her face was fair, and her silken h^ir — 
 The sun's golden rays lay nestling there. 
 The color true of the roses' hue, 
 Adorned her lips, and peach-cheeks too; 
 But over the former seemed sparkling a dew. 
 Her youthful eyes, I know the skies 
 Such luster would treasure and dearly prize. 
 She looked at me with a smile of glee 
 But 'twas not the smile I longed to see. 
 My heart went wild for this wayward child ; 
 And I begged her to leave the path beguiled. — 
 Then she turned on her heel and scornfully 
 smiled. 
 
 ''Serpent," I said, as I shook my head, 
 "Slimy creature with a soul stark dead. 
 'Tis such as you with a heart untrue 
 That start the race all who join must rue." 
 "O, no," said she, "It is such as ye 
 That start the race from which none can free. 
 It is you with your pureness and chastity, 
 Your customs cruel and your church and school : 
 They lead astray, they beguile and fool. 
 They lie, they blame ; they scorn and they shame, 
 But never attempt to cleanse one's name. 
 They speak of right, but they deal with blight, 
 And strangle truth with the coils of night. 
 And covet the nature of the ravenous kite." 
 
58 antJil ^parb$ 
 
 She paused for rest, and her panting breast 
 Told how the ways of the world opprest, 
 She heaved a sigh : ''Do you think 'twas I 
 That chose the gutter instead of the sky? 
 What folly to think that one would sink 
 Of her own accord to Satan's brink; 
 Yet such is the mold in which good-folk think, 
 Since infant time have the 'wise,' 'sublime' 
 Called selling the body a woeful crime; 
 But life's very whole, the soul, the soul, 
 Themselves they sell for a paltry toll." 
 I bowed my head at what she said 
 And felt her words strike home like lead; 
 'Twas the "clean," the "good" that her shame 
 have spread. 
 
 He who by the plow would thrive, hires others 
 to hold and drive. 
 
 Who desires nothing more deserves something 
 less. 
 
 THE SKELETON OF HONOR. 
 
 The following epic, which is a ballad, was sug- 
 gested to me by the many attempted suppres- 
 sions of news regarding the thefts of "our" 
 kleptomaniacs, and the occasional pilferers 
 caught in the first class hotels. 
 
 The two most exploited excuses are — ^that 
 
antJil S)parfe0 59 
 
 the victim is suffering with the rich man's dis- 
 ease (kleptomania), or that it was the irresis- 
 tible desire to have a souvenir of the place. It 
 is to these caught and uncaught pillars of so- 
 ciety, these skeletons of honor, that I dedicate 
 this poem most welcomely. 
 
 Halt! halt! thou titled guest, 
 What's that so tightly prest 
 Beneath your sporty vest — 
 
 Some souvenir? 
 I stood behind that post, 
 Per instructions of your host ; 
 Knabbing filchers is my boast — 
 
 There are others here. 
 
 Last night a lady fair, 
 With false and colored hair — 
 She sat right over there — 
 
 Well I remember. 
 Such mien, such grace, such taste. 
 Yet, Lord, with what a haste 
 Things flew into her waist, 
 
 As though 'twere some chamber. 
 
 Then spake the Viking soul 
 (Much like a small-sized mole), 
 "How dare you say I stole," 
 
 Madly it thundered. 
 *T'll teach you, surly bloke. 
 To regret that thus you spoke. 
 You born for the yoke, 
 
 You of the plundered." 
 
6o gintoil Sipatfe^ 
 
 Soon drew my master near, 
 "What's all this racket here?" 
 I made my story clear — 
 
 He was arrested. 
 Next morn 'twas found that he 
 Was Lord Grab All Yousee, 
 So the blame fell all on me, 
 
 And I was bested. 
 
 His counsel at court declared 
 The Lord he must be spared, 
 For like all the rich he shared 
 
 The awful disease. 
 I for "accusing" him, 
 I for "abusing" him, 
 And for "misusing" him, 
 
 Was jailed, if you please. 
 
 He who reckons without his host, may have 
 something left. 
 
 He who cracks the shell seldom eats the 
 kernel. 
 
 THE MOON-COP. 
 
 I paused on the bridge one evening, 
 But short, aye, too short was my stop, 
 
 For the moon-man rose out of the city. 
 And I took that fat face for a cop. 
 
atttJil Sparb0 6i 
 
 I was born in the land of the freemen, 
 As my great grandsire's papers will show, 
 
 But since I must slave for a living, 
 'Tis workingmen's freedom I know. 
 
 And that's why I have an aversion 
 For the man that straggles the street 
 
 With the tread of a well built Jumbo, 
 And a job that is only a beat. 
 
 "Dive home," to myself I murmured. 
 And began for my hovel to strive; 
 
 When the thought rushed in upon me; 
 "What cop's not at home in a dive?" 
 
 "Were I rich, to some club I would hasten, 
 But I'm not, and there is the rub; 
 
 Yet the poor, the poor," I pondered, 
 "Are certainly used to the club." 
 
 Not being a good politician 
 
 For running I failed to be meet, 
 So I dropped on a bench near the railing, 
 
 And painfully felt my de-feat. 
 
 No hope had I for escape now 
 And awaited his coming pell-mell, 
 
 I expected to go right to prison, 
 For 'tis custom, the toiler to cell. 
 
 I pictured my stand before justice, 
 
 To answer but not to retort, 
 A humble but well meaning suitor, 
 
 Unwillingly brought in to court. 
 
In fancy I saw him, ''His Honor" — 
 But fancy did not take me far. 
 
 For the worker in all undertakings 
 Soon finds himself up at a bar. 
 
 And seated there by the railing, 
 
 Dull thoughts thru my weary brain passed, 
 You see I was hungry, and tired, 
 
 And slow, — because of my fast. 
 
 While I sat there, pale Luna sailed upward, 
 
 And rose far, far o'er my head. 
 Then I saw the cause of my terror, 
 
 The phantom from which I had fled. 
 
 In this moony affair there's a lesson, 
 The toilers should study and learn : 
 
 For most of the things that they shrink from 
 Are moon-cops that flee if you turn. 
 
 Beauty draws more than a porous plaster. 
 At Rome do the Romans. 
 
 A MINUTE. 
 
 The work of a minute, who would think, 
 Life, Love and Death rest on its brink? 
 And yet 'tis so, within that time 
 
Are born the deeds of Right and Crime. 
 
 A slave beheaded, a king is crowned; 
 
 A prisoner freed, a freeman bound. 
 
 A conflict lost, a victory won; 
 
 A world destroyed, a world begun. 
 
 A word withheld, which Time will rue, 
 
 A thought let loose none can subdue. 
 
 A tyrant's wish, in fear fulfilled. 
 
 And Freedom's lips for years are stilled; 
 
 And thousands bleed, and thousands die, 
 
 And thousands vainly plead and cry. 
 
 A sentence spoke, at martyr's cost, 
 
 And Truth has gained and Falsehood lost. 
 
 A moment's loss, and years of pain 
 
 Follow, gnawing, in its train. 
 
 A moment's haste, and all too soon 
 
 December blights the work of June. 
 
 A timely smile and love in glee 
 
 Goes singing to eternity. 
 
 A cheerful word and death is stayed, 
 
 And level seems life's rocky grade. 
 This and more can crowd a minute — 
 Who would think so much is in it? 
 
 ODE TO A MUSTACHE. 
 
 Coax it, coax it, little man. 
 Treat it gently if you can; 
 Pull it, jerk it, make it grow — 
 O, a mustache creeps so slow ! 
 
64 anbil ©parb0 
 
 Pardon queries, but, I pray, 
 Must you have it right away? 
 
 He who has others do his w^ork laughs at 
 soiled hands and worn clothes. 
 
 Let him first get rich who would be well 
 spoken of. 
 
 DEVIL-UTION. 
 
 With ''Excuse me, please," to Langdon Smith. 
 
 When you were a tadpole and I was a fish, 
 
 Some million years ago, 
 We both may have been an excellent dish 
 
 For some homely Ape, don't you know. 
 Perchance he swallowed us both with one gulp 
 
 In the depths of the Cambrian fen; 
 Be that as it may, I feel it to-day, 
 
 That I loved you, even then. 
 
 Chased by a whale and chased by a seal, 
 
 And beat by the mad tide's pelt, 
 'Twas all I could do to hold on to you, 
 
 So oozy and slimy you felt. 
 The world didn't care for either a rap, 
 
 We seemed no part of its chain. 
 So we lost our breath and went to our death, 
 
 Then sneaked into life again. 
 
anmi S)parb0 65 
 
 I didn't shave and you didn't paint 
 
 In those eons, eons agone, 
 Nor did you wear a rat in your hair, 
 
 Nor a corset to cramp and pinch; 
 No high hat fine nor cane for mine, 
 
 We were glad that we Hved at all ; — 
 Yet happy we lived and happy we loved, 
 
 Such life and such love were a cinch. 
 
 The years they came and the years they went, 
 
 Things changed, for such was the style; 
 And the Ape that ate us we swallowed in turn. 
 
 We lived and we died every while 
 I recall — do you? — the Mammoth I slew. 
 
 And both of us howled with delight — 
 Who would have thought, at Delmonico's, 
 
 We'd sit and dine to-night? 
 
 Yet such is fate ; and every plate 
 
 We taste of to-night is grand. 
 Phew ! phew ! for the bones in the Bagshot stones 
 
 We munched on the wild sea strand. 
 And far more dear is the music here 
 
 Than the jungle choir's screech, 
 While the swish of your silken skirts, I vow, 
 
 Surpasses the wave on the beach. 
 
 So while we think of times long dead 
 As we chat o'er some dainty dish. 
 
 Or plan the course that spells divorce, 
 Please let us not forget — 
 
 To drink anew to the time when you 
 Were a tadpole, and I was a fish. 
 
66 antiil §)park0 
 
 BILL AND L 
 
 I met one day upon my way, 
 
 A curly bearded goat, 
 And until then I did not ken 
 
 How ably I could float. 
 
 He met me square, he met me fair, 
 
 I vow by this, my tale; 
 He winked his eye, I felt the sky. 
 
 So quickly did I sail. 
 
 When I came down I thought the town 
 Had turned about and fled; 
 
 For all I found, besides the ground, 
 Was Bill with bowed-down head. 
 
 The brute, thought I — I most could cry- 
 Is sorry for his deed; 
 
 I nearer drew a yard or two, 
 To give him chance to plead. 
 
 O, woe is me, I now can see 
 
 How grievously I erred, 
 I need but sit to think of it, 
 
 So grievously I fared. 
 
 Well may ye talk and boast of luck 
 
 Who never trusted BILL, 
 Ofttimes I wake in fear and shake, 
 
 And think I'm sailing still. 
 
antiil ©park0 67 
 
 A COMPOSITION. 
 
 A penny stick of chewing-gum, 
 
 A five-cent fancy cane, 
 A brainless skull, a stylish hat, 
 
 And suit with watchless chain ; 
 A window pane upon one eye, 
 
 (I'm sorry if I'm rude) 
 But the aforesaid articles 
 
 Compose the first class dude. 
 
 He who grabs much shouts, 'All have 
 enough." 
 
 THE CHESTNUT BURR. 
 
 I never knew how chestnuts grew. 
 
 Until I went a-picking; 
 Nor did it e'er to me occur 
 That such a tiny chestnut burr 
 
 Could give one such a pricking. 
 
 Some things we believe; some things we be- 
 lieve we believe; and some things we make be- 
 lieve we believe. 
 
68 antiil ^patb0 
 
 Patriotism is a narcotic — at first it stimulates, 
 but later turns its victim into a fiend who, at last, 
 dies an idiot. 
 
 He who troubles himself not with others' 
 business dies poor. 
 
 The fool steals an egg, the wise an ox. 
 
 LOVE'S STAGES. 
 
 At ten I loved sweet Katie dear, 
 Felt happy, but, when she was near ; 
 We nobly treasured each other's heart, 
 And vowed death only us could part. 
 
 At twelve 'twas Mable sealed my fate. 
 No other e'er should be my mate. 
 She promised to be all my own, 
 I truly lived for her alone. 
 
 At fourteen, Ah! sweet, fairy Ann, 
 I loved her like a full grown man. 
 I thought of her at work and play, 
 And deemed her mine fore'er and aye. 
 
 At fifteen a new face revealed 
 
 A love that till then had been sealed, 
 
 I thought no angel more divine, 
 
 And swore till death she should be mine. 
 
But sixteen came and brought a change 
 That drove all past loves out of range. 
 Angel May, with golden hair, 
 Awoke a love naught could compare. 
 
 At nineteen many that I met 
 Received my love and hold it yet. 
 But decide I could no longer, 
 Which deserved my love the stronger. 
 
 And now since I've past twenty-one 
 It is that true love has begun ; 
 For now I love the large and small — 
 In fact, I love them one and all. 
 
 He who would be rich in one year and not 
 hang for it must succeed in three months. 
 
 Hunger is the best sauce. That's why the 
 philanthropists feed it to the poor. 
 
 PLEASANT SPORT. 
 
 Aurora smiled as she raised her head, 
 
 And found the night's last moments fled; 
 
 But shook her locks as she heard the honi 
 
 Of the hunter gay on the infant morn. 
 
 And her bright smile changed to a look of care, 
 
 While the brow grew sad that beamed so fair, 
 
70 antJil §)patk0 
 
 For she knew that sound; the tale it told: 
 Some creature wild from the neighboring wold 
 Would meet its fate ere the day was done, 
 And fall a prey to the huntsman's gun. 
 
 When the day's sun set the hunter came 
 
 (His heart aglow with his perfect aim) 
 
 To his waiting bride, and spread his spoil, 
 
 To count the all of his pleasant toil. 
 
 The dogs sat round, serene and wise, 
 
 Their love-light shone from their gleaming eyes ; 
 
 They asked no pay; they found reward 
 
 In the hearty laugh of their queen and lord. 
 
 Who never paused to think, or sigh 
 
 For the guiltless thing he caused to die. 
 
 Who others has driven can sleep till ii; but 
 who for bread must strive, must rise at 5. 
 
 He who can give much alms must first have 
 stolen them. 
 
 FAREWELL TO SUMMER. 
 
 Farewell to your golden hours, 
 
 O, summer days, 
 Refreshing winds and showers. 
 
 And shining rays; 
 Fleecy clouds and balmy skies. 
 
 And song of bird. 
 
Farewell to you breezes' sighs 
 
 Whose breathing stirred 
 The heart of man to forget, 
 
 His woe and care, 
 And thoughts whose brooding let 
 
 In wild despair. 
 Farewell to you bowing trees 
 
 Whose branches shed 
 Their dark shadows as to ease 
 
 The weary head. 
 The falling leaves scattered round, 
 
 Like withered hopes, 
 Are being too thickly found 
 
 On hills and slopes; 
 Slowly, sadly I pick up 
 
 A fallen leaf, 
 And my heart's o'erflowing cup 
 
 Of longing grief 
 Forms a fountain of regret. 
 
 'Tis a cruel dart 
 That we who have barely met 
 
 So soon must part. 
 Farewell, flowers, stars of earth, 
 
 Whose fragrant breath, 
 Almost at its very birth. 
 
 Is kissed by death. 
 Your tender stems, petals fair, 
 
 Your beauty all, 
 Must wither in autumn's air. 
 
 Fade, die and fall. 
 Again, farewell, sweet summer skies. 
 
 And balmy air, 
 
72 antiil ^parb0 
 
 In vain will seek my eager eyes 
 
 The birdies fair 
 That would call at early dawn, 
 
 In happy glee, 
 To sing on my grassy lawn 
 
 And leafy tree. 
 The gay brook our meadow owns, 
 
 Its gentle lay 
 Seems changed to sad, mournful tones. 
 
 No more it's gay ; 
 Soon will winter's icy hands 
 
 Its chains bring forth 
 And bind it with snowy bands 
 
 Made in the North. 
 Hushed will be the bee's low hum, 
 
 His Hisy toil; 
 And till a new, bright, spring does come, 
 
 Live on his spoil. 
 Oh, this parting gives me pain 
 
 That words can't tell; 
 All I can do, repeat again: 
 
 FAREWELL, FAREWELL. 
 
 Where there's a Will there's a May — some- 
 times. 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE ROSE. 
 
 My heart was sad last night, so I 
 To cheer myself, to read did try. 
 
It failed, for I grew sadder still 
 As one by reading ofttimes will. 
 I then sang songs, the songs of old, 
 That tales of love and childhood told, 
 But all proved vain, both book and song. 
 Though ever right they now seemed wrong. 
 I walked the flower garden through, 
 Unmindful of the breeze that blew 
 The sweet perfume the flowers shed, 
 But paused and plucked from a rose-bed, 
 One tender rose; with it in hand 
 I went beside my door to stand, 
 Assured that naught my soul could cheer, 
 Once that it grew so sad and drear. 
 
 A child came by with song-like voice 
 And found my rose to be its choice. 
 "Please give me that flower, do," 
 It murmured as its eyes of blue 
 Met mine, its chubby arm at length 
 To take the gift — a new, glad strength 
 Shot through my soul, I felt as though 
 I ne'er had known deep cares or woe. 
 
 I gave the rose, and hugged the child, 
 Stamped it with kisses fast and wild. 
 It went its way and from the dark 
 Cell of my heart, arose the spark 
 That woke me to the tender breeze 
 And to the birds among the trees. 
 I noted for the first that night 
 How clear the pale moon shone and bright. 
 I felt rejoiced, my cares had fled, 
 
74 anDil ^patb0 
 
 I hummed an air for infants bred, 
 And all because a child had called 
 
 For the rose that I unconscious pulled. 
 
 He who loves to employ himself will soon 
 die of overwork. 
 
 He who has no children knows not what love 
 means — nor worry either. 
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME. 
 
 A maiden whose beauty was hazy 
 Was different from those who are lazy; 
 
 She used padding and paint, 
 
 Till she looked like a saint 
 And the boys that saw her, said "Daisy." 
 
 A lover who lived in a dell 
 
 Died where he went I can't tell. 
 
 Nor could I find out 
 
 As I lingered about, 
 While the pastor was sounding his— "Nell.* 
 
 A lass wished to go to a play 
 With her beau, but papa said nay, 
 So she coaxed along, 
 Till he thought himself wrong, 
 And said, "Yes, my daughter, you 'May'." 
 
A girl who was getting her muse on, 
 The piano her fingers would use on, 
 
 Her neighbors went mad 
 
 And one was so bad, 
 That this is the case that he — "Susan." 
 
 A widow of forty, a fairy, 
 Knew a rich man with a dairy, 
 
 She worked her scheme well — 
 
 The rest, need I tell? 
 I'll just give her name, it is — "Mary." 
 
 A botanist known as Billie, 
 
 None would have thought him so silly, 
 
 Married a "flower," 
 
 Received as his dower 
 Change of notion regarding his — "Lillie." 
 
 A penniless dude named Kenny, 
 A sport who had sweethearts many. 
 
 Just whispered to one 
 
 That cash he had none; 
 Now he has, but he hasn't got — "Annie." 
 
 AUTUMN WIND. 
 
 The hurrying wind leaps over the hill. 
 Ruffles in passion the slow winding rill ; 
 Glares at the flowers and tugs at the trees. 
 Scatters their leaflets wherever he please. 
 
76 antiil g)fiarb0 
 
 Urges the clouds with tyrannical force, 
 Leaves dire destruction all over his course. 
 In vain seek the songsters to steer from his path, 
 Fearing to face his wild bluster and wrath. 
 He scowls at the skies, and growls at the sun, 
 Dissatisfied still with all he has done, 
 He furiously hastens to rage o'er the sea — 
 Leaving the world as my soul is in me. 
 
 One ounce of originality is worth ten pounds 
 of imitation. 
 
 Tyranny and Ignorance ride the chariot of 
 Slavery drawn by the steeds Fear and Doubt. 
 
 JOHN D.'S PRAYER. 
 
 John sent me the following, his last Sunday's 
 inspiration, for criticism. I in turn submit it to 
 the public : 
 
 Roll on, ye Copper Pennies, roll 
 
 And drop into my vault, until my soul 
 
 Can rest assured I'm owner of the whole ! 
 
 Pray on ! pray on ! ye children of the poor, 
 I've asked the Lord — He says He can endure 
 Your nonsense, till at last it proves a cure. 
 
And while it keeps the fooHsh masses quiet, 
 And keeps them thinking present ways are right : 
 I need not fear the future's promised fight. 
 
 Heave up, heave up, thou big, fat mighty earth ! 
 You can't fool me, for well I know your worth; 
 Nor am I one to stand for foolish mirth. 
 
 The endless chain of my cheap-paid-for toil 
 
 Will tap your every vein till it uncoil, 
 
 And drain its last, last drop of Standard Oil. 
 
 O Earth, my trust I gave to Heaven true; 
 Not so, my love, that gave I all to you. 
 You are the richest source I ever knew. 
 
 And with your help the human race I'll wield — 
 Make me your God, and I'll make you my shield. 
 Love you I will as long as oil you yield. 
 
 Now, Holy God, I turn my voice with glee — 
 Thanks, thanks for many favors shown to me. 
 All bear me malice, I but envy Thee. 
 
 I've gathered all I could within Thy fold, 
 
 Nor once o'erlooked the poorest, young or old 
 
 And in Thy name my Standard Oil I sold. 
 
 Guard Thou my house, and let Thy blessings 
 
 flow; 
 Not from above, but rather from below ; 
 For I am humble — ask my Class, they know. 
 
?8 Simil Spatb0 
 
 My darling child, sometimes I think he be 
 Another Son sent down, O Lord, by Thee, 
 To teach the heathen world humility. 
 
 I ask not much, O Lord, just to succeed 
 That all the world thru me obtain their feed ; 
 For none know better what the poor most need. 
 
 The Lord's prayer may be good enough for 
 Him but not for a MAN. 
 
 Horses neigh, asses bray, and dunces pray. 
 
 TRUE LOVE. 
 
 True love has never sought reward. 
 But freely gives without accord 
 To how, to why, to where or when; 
 Gives all, and seeks to give again. 
 It thrives on rocks, on thorns it treads, 
 And gayly goes where courage dreads. 
 It laughs at hate and smiles at fears, 
 Cools its pains in its silent tears. 
 It welcomes want, it welcomes needs; 
 On what it gives its soul it feeds. 
 Its silence speaks in tongue so deep 
 That e'en the deaf are bound to reap 
 Its meaning vast, and so sublime, 
 Its sweet and charming, soothing chime. 
 
It never asks for words of praise; 
 And shines alike on cloudy days 
 As when the sun in beauty wakes 
 On snow-clad hills or sparkling lakes. 
 To give all it can afford, 
 That is true love's best reward. 
 
 "Come, going up?" said high price. "No, I 
 go down," said low wage. 
 
 We can't complain against our present system, 
 it's all-riot. 
 
 LIFE'S INEVITABLE. 
 
 O, the saddest of all mem'ries 
 That can crowd our earthly lot. 
 
 Is of loving friends we cherished, 
 And alas, who now are not. 
 
 Friends who journeyed on our pathway, 
 Who with kindly word or deed, 
 Helped to lighten heavy burdens. 
 Helped us nobly to proceed. 
 
 They who never lagged a moment 
 
 To extend a helping hand, 
 Whose bright smiles and gentle manners 
 
 Deeper wrought than gruff command. 
 
8o antiil %)parlt0 
 
 Yet who faltered in life's battle 
 
 Their own course but half way o'er, 
 
 Weary grown in earth's wild conflict, 
 And left to join us never more. 
 
 Who among the living mortals 
 
 Can look back along his day. 
 And perceive not 'mongst the vanquished. 
 
 One thus resting by the way ? 
 
 He who would thrive must learn to drive. 
 Ofttimes to avoid a swamp we rush into a 
 quagmire. 
 
 '^GENTLEMEN." 
 
 We're the leeches of the nation, 
 We're the drones of the creation. 
 And we burden habitation 
 With our high degree of station, 
 While our occupation — 
 
 Is the ''Gentleman." 
 
 To work is not in our line, 
 For that we're born too fine; 
 But we gamble and drink wine. 
 We're the nation's porcupine 
 And we're named by the divine — 
 As the "Gentlemen." 
 
anbil @patb0 8i 
 
 We let the masses toil, 
 And ever cause them broil, 
 We know how them to foil, 
 How their gains to spoil ; 
 We call ourselves the Royal — 
 Or the ''Gentlemen/' 
 
 Our wealth from poor we press, 
 In silks and frills to dress. 
 And leave to them all stress; 
 Our country's "dear" progress 
 Still worries us the less — 
 
 We are ''Gentlemen." 
 
 The mass, it is our tool. 
 It sweats to keep us cool, 
 We call it simple fool! 
 Or government mule. 
 While we are under rule — 
 As the "Gentlemen." 
 
 Now, say, can you deny 
 Our power comes from high? 
 We laugh at groan and sigh 
 Of workers passing by, 
 For only from our eye — 
 
 Shines the "Gentlemen." 
 
 He whose noble strain 
 Base labor does not stain, 
 But fats on stolen gain, 
 May take right to maintain 
 Our new self-chosen name — 
 Which is "Gentlemen." 
 
S2 antiil ©parb0 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 November's scent has filled the air; 
 Dead leaves lie scattered everywhere; 
 The branches of the trees stand bare, 
 
 And sad and drear. 
 I long to have the summer stay 
 Another month, a single day — 
 But all in vain, in vain I pray; 
 
 On speeds the year. 
 
 No more the warbler's godly song 
 Is heard the hills and vales to throng 
 With joys that make the weak hearts strong, 
 
 And life seem dear. 
 Death smiles upon the flowery race, 
 And all have left this earthly place, 
 Save here and there an angel face 
 
 May still appear. 
 
 The grass no longer wears the green ; 
 From lakes and streamlets we can glean 
 That soon no more their waves be seen 
 
 In rippling cheer. 
 The busy squirrel this season knows 
 And to all mankind this lesson shows : 
 Prepare, prepare for coming snows 
 
 And wild storms near. 
 
 The summer's sun leans toward the west. 
 And winter bids the earth be dressed. 
 
anuil ^parb0 83 
 
 And coolly wait his ice-bound test 
 
 Without a fear. 
 Ai\d so I, too, with fearless eye 
 Wi,M watch the loving summer die, 
 Asa ired this mourning will be by 
 
 In half a year. 
 
 Just Rock-a-feller, and his soil, produces our 
 rich Standard Oil. 
 
 Some to forebear stepping on insects tread the 
 hearts of their fellowman. 
 
 A CAPITALIST'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Damn those workers, ever kicking ! 
 
 Always wanting higher pay; 
 We will never fill those gluttons. 
 
 If we do not change their way. 
 
 Now my slaves have kept on grumbling 
 For a full half year or more; 
 
 Kept me busy planning, scheming 
 How to rob them as before. 
 
 Kept me buying labor leaders — 
 This one seems to lose his hold; 
 
 That one's shoes are growing tighter; 
 T'other's toes are getting cold. 
 
84 antiil ^park0 
 
 Labor troubles are increasing, 
 Social rank is being forced. 
 
 Here 'tis almost past the season, 
 And not once have I divorced ! 
 
 I'm so taken up with strikers, 
 Really 'tis a downright shame, 
 
 I've but figured in one scandal. 
 Caught in just one bunco game. 
 
 Have not had a puppy birthday 
 For eight weeks — no, almost nine; 
 
 Killed but two while auto driving. 
 And almost missed that monkey dine. 
 
 Tell a girl a man's salary and she'll know 
 how much to love him. 
 
 The only ears to trust with a secret are ears 
 of corn. 
 
 COME, JOIN US. 
 
 I'll make me a song of Arcade, 
 
 Of the joyous times to come, 
 When dead will be the cry of greed 
 
 And debasing profit's hum. 
 
 For my heart is full, and my soul does yearn 
 To forget the sordid NOW, 
 
3ntJil ©patb0 85 
 
 My brain is racked with the cares of life — 
 Necessity's thund'ring *'HOW?" 
 
 And here is the song that I will sing 
 And may all who hear take heart, 
 
 And forge to that time of Arcade 
 Of which my song is part: 
 
 We are free and merry, 
 
 As freemen ought to be; 
 The pangs of care and sorrow 
 
 Are sunken in the sea. 
 
 Our babes no longer suffer, 
 Our children sport and play; 
 
 And no one now does offer 
 His life for meagre pay. 
 
 Every soul is active 
 
 And gayly does his part. 
 No human e'er is auctioned 
 
 Upon a public mart. 
 
 And many words that have been 
 
 A part of daily tongue, 
 Are mentioned now as reHcs 
 
 When men were ruled by wrong. 
 
 Such words as slave and master. 
 
 Profit, hate, and greed, 
 Starvation, stealth, or idler. 
 
 Unemployment, need. 
 
86 antiil §)parb0 
 
 And many more such symbols 
 Once writ in human blood 
 
 Are washed away forever — 
 Now all we know is GOOD. 
 
 We work and think in comfort, 
 We bow to none in fear — 
 
 We know no creed or country, 
 We all are comrades here. 
 
 No wonder, then, we're merry, 
 As freemen ought to be ; 
 
 Come, join us in our pleasure, 
 At last the world is FREE ! 
 
 Many a judge is behind the wrong bar. 
 Most girls fear thoughts as they do mice. 
 You can tell a henpecked husband by his 
 cackle. 
 
 IS THAT SO? 
 
 A baby is a funny thing, 
 
 The queerest thing on earth; 
 
 A creature void of usefulness. 
 Ten make one penny's worth. 
 
 A thing that like the old gray owl 
 Sleeps only thru the day; 
 
anuil @park0 87 
 
 But all night long does screech and howl 
 
 As tho 'twas done for pay. 
 A bundle full of screaming sounds, 
 
 A nuisance everywhere; 
 Enough to drive the strongest man 
 
 To swearing and despair. 
 
 God would be good but he lost one O. 
 Love is nature sighing to itself. 
 Flattery is a human magnet. 
 
 THE END 
 
DEC 
 
 1 ^ 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.