Glass :l 
 
 Book 
 
 Copyii^ht)^^. 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
SWEET JUNE 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER HYND-LINDSAY 
 
 >s 
 
 BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 835 Broadway y New York 
 
 BRANCH OFFICES: WASHINGTON. BALTIMORE 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS. NORFOLK. 
 

 
 Copyright, 1912, 
 
 By 
 
 Alexander Hynd-Lindsay. 
 
 .QUASI 2368 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Come Sweet June. 3 
 
 1 Have Had my Day ^. 7 
 
 I am not Blind 12 
 
 The Birth of May 14 
 
 The Crowning of the Queen 16 
 
 The Queen's Response 16 
 
 Ode to the Sky-lark. ^. 17 
 
 Bubba Love , 20 
 
 Requiem ,. . 25 
 
 The Song of the Loom ^. 2'y 
 
 The Golden Calf (Burlesque) 30 
 
 Let's Go On 33 
 
 Ode to the Mount 37 
 
 Centenary Ode to Lincoln, 1809- 1909 39 
 
 The Ouleout in June 42 
 
 The Nativity — .: 43 
 
 Ode to Stephens Collins Foster 45 
 
 The Pot-House Politician y, . . 47 
 
 Life 51 
 
 A Life-Prayer , 54 
 
 To Music 55 
 
 Evolution , 57 
 
 To a Primrose. 5S 
 
 (Translation) Horace, Book i, Ode IX.... 61 
 
 To 62 
 
 Sin ^ 6s 
 
 A Woman's Heart . 64 
 
 Growth 65 
 
 The Loss of H. M. S. ''Victoria" 66 
 
Contenw 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In Memory of Mrs. John Darnall , 69 
 
 Dying Summer ^2 
 
 Scotch Dialect Verse 
 
 My Faither 73 
 
 My Nannie O ! 74 
 
 Somebody's Bairn , y/ 
 
 Hypocrisy 80 
 
 Other Dialect Verses 
 
 Meanness , , 82 
 
 Christmas is not Christmas When the Chil- 
 dren are Away. 85 
 
 The Old Man 88 
 
 An Important Question , . 92 
 
 Blue Points 94 
 
 The Blues 98 
 
 Git Thare 102 
 
 Feehng Fine 103 
 
 Keep A Smiling 105 
 
 A Man , 107 
 
 Songs 
 
 Mollie Sings 109 
 
 Elkhorn , 112 
 
 I Want to Go Back to the Old Town 114 
 
 June — 116 
 
 March ,. . ., 117 
 
 Memories 119 
 
 Kathleen 121 
 
 Mollie Maguire 123 
 
 The Harvest 124 
 
SWEET JUNE 
 
 O COME SWEET JUNE! 
 
 I 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 For I'm aweary of the frost and snow — 
 The cold gray mists the sleeping hill-tops screen. 
 I long to see again a blossom grow. 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And weave thy magic green. 
 
 2 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 'For heaven comes when thou art laughing near. 
 'My heart is singing when the buddlings blow. 
 For gloomy winter has been long and drear. 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And kiss away the snow. 
 
 3 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 
 And bring with thee the meadow lark again; 
 
©toeet 3iune 
 
 I long to see the blue-bird and wee wren. 
 And hear the thrush sing in the after-rain. 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And start the choirs again. 
 
 4 
 O come, sweet June! 
 I'm tired of white. O send me God's sweet 
 
 green 
 Spangled with dew drops glistening in the light. 
 Make me forget what all the past has been. 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 For long has been the night. 
 
 5 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 
 So I can brood and dream my soul away. 
 
 Draining thy mystic draughts from earth and 
 
 sky. 
 
 Till I forget that time pulsates with day. 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 
 To where the dreamlands lie. 
 
 6 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 For thou art loveliness where'er thou art. 
 Whether in wooded hill, or valley green. 
 Come ! spill the wild-flower's nectar on my heart. 
 O come, sweet June! 
 My rosy summer-Queen. 
 
Stoeet 3fune 
 
 7 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 
 What would I give to hear thy gentle tap 
 
 On my heart's door — when opened have thee 
 
 throw 
 
 A bunch of apple blossoms from thy lap ? 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 
 While sweets from orchards blow. 
 
 8 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And let me hear the brown soft-fluted thrush 
 Pour out her melody at golden noon, 
 While love-sick flowers lift their heads and blush. 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 You cannot come too soon. 
 
 9 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 Thy fragrant days are only far too few — 
 The days when drowsy bees leave trails of sweet, 
 And roses smile beneath their veil of dew. 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 While waves the wind-swept wheat. 
 
 10 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 Or I'll forget just how to kiss thy lips 
 And hold thy hand love-pressed as lovers do. 
 Or braid thy brow with violets and cowslips. 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 While lovers meet and woo. 
 
Stoeet 3!une 
 
 II 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And let me see again thy image fair 
 Mirrored in yonder fairy-haunted stream ; 
 Where elfins braid and tie thy sun-dyed hair. 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 While fairies dance and dream. 
 
 12 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And let me see the sun low in the west 
 Spill out his gold along the azure line, 
 Wrapping with purple veil the hills for rest 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 While stars sing on, and shine. 
 
 13 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 For long have been the weary months of pain. 
 And slow have been my waiting, watching hours, 
 When I oft prayed for blossoms, sunshine, rain 
 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 With showers wake up the flowers. 
 
 14 
 O come, sweet June ! 
 And when you come, O may your stay be long. 
 O June, go slow, a poet loves you so. 
 Forever he could listen to thy song. 
 Stay on, sweet June! 
 Or hnger as you go. 
 
g)toeet 3fune 
 
 I HAVE HAD MY DAY 
 
 I 
 
 O I have had my day, lad, 
 
 I have had my day. 
 In the morning time of youth, lad, 
 
 At my feet the world lay. 
 My days were glad and golden 
 
 From dawn till twilight's meet, 
 When every sound was melody, 
 
 And every dream was sweet. 
 No shadow crossed my rosy path. 
 
 I never had a care. 
 A boy then, 'twas joy then. 
 
 lad, my day was fair ! 
 
 2 
 O I have had my day, lad, 
 
 1 have had my day. 
 
 Now my day is not so long, lad, 
 
 And my sky has turned to gray. 
 The sun shines not so fair and bright 
 
 As in my youthful morn. 
 And here and there along the road 
 
 I feel the pricking thorn. 
 Some sorrows I have had, lad, 
 
 Have brought me good and ill. 
 And yet, lad, I'll bet, lad, 
 
 Tm deeply happy still. 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 3 
 O when the charm is gone, lad, 
 
 Of all the opening years. 
 When love's young joys have faded, 
 
 Till we feel the salty tears. 
 When youthful visions flee, lad, 
 
 Then duty comes to stay. 
 To do our best, and guard our trust 
 
 Lights up the manward way. 
 For life is but a school, lad. 
 
 Where words are hard to spell. 
 The test, lad, at best, lad : 
 
 Is to learn our lesson well. 
 
 4 
 Yes, I have had my day, lad — 
 
 My day of luck and chance. 
 When I felt proud and strong, lad. 
 
 And full of sweet romance. 
 But I have made mistakes, lad, 
 
 Fve made them time again. 
 When oft I felt a quiet contempt 
 
 For wiser, better men. 
 But I have learned long since, lad, 
 
 To walk before I fly. 
 In my round, lad, I've found, lad, 
 
 Far stronger men than I. 
 
 5 
 When we grow wise with years, lad, 
 
 The more we praise than scorn. 
 8 
 
g)toeet 3Iune 
 
 And for the worth of others, lad, 
 
 A new respect is born. 
 For learn you will in time, lad, 
 
 We all before we die. 
 That honest praise for honest work, 
 
 Makes strong the friendly tie. 
 A winning word of cheer, lad. 
 
 Come ! speak it while we may. 
 A smile, lad, the while, lad. 
 
 Will light us on the way. 
 
 6 
 
 Not all the great or good, lad, 
 
 Not all the men of fame. 
 Not all the souls of sterling worth, 
 
 Nor those of powerful name, 
 Were to the purple born, lad. 
 
 Nor slept in beds of gold. 
 Nor nestled in the lap of ease 
 
 Within the rich man's fold. 
 But o'er life's burning sands, lad. 
 
 They walked through starless nights. 
 Obscure, lad, and poor, lad. 
 
 They rose to dizzy heights. 
 
 7 
 O what if you be poor, lad. 
 
 Unnoticed and unknown. 
 Remember you are rich indeed 
 
 If all but honor's gone. 
 The riches are within, lad, 
 
 The heart hath wealth untold. 
 
Stoeet 3fune 
 
 A peaceful conscience, mind at ease, 
 
 Surpass a mint of gold. 
 Our life's an open book, lad, 
 
 Where every blot is seen. 
 All's done, lad, and won, lad, 
 
 If honor's page is clean. 
 
 8 
 O I have had my day, lad, 
 
 O lad, and so will you. 
 And in the round of life, lad, 
 
 Some friends will prove untrue, 
 Because you stood and dared, lad — 
 
 Stood! in your manly might. 
 Because you loved the truth, lad, 
 
 And fought for God and right. 
 The conscience hidden in the breast 
 
 Where no eye of sage can scan. 
 It fights, lad, indicts, lad. 
 
 The wrong within the man. 
 
 9. 
 O deep and dark is sin, lad, 
 
 In every race and clan. 
 It hardens all within, lad. 
 
 And sinks the better man. 
 If sin were bitter first, lad. 
 
 No soul would ever fall. 
 The first taste is as honey sweet. 
 
 The after taste is gall. 
 Its seeds are in us all, lad, 
 
 In rich as well as poor. 
 
 10 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 The sin, lad, within, lad. 
 
 Will bring the harvest sure. 
 
 10 
 
 But this I hope and pray, lad, 
 
 In all your manly strife, 
 That you'll be brave, sincere and sweet 
 
 Through all the ways of life. 
 And to the fellow-down, lad, 
 
 Be sympathetic — kind. 
 Keep to the world of men, lad, 
 
 An open heart and mind. 
 O live and love the truth, lad, 
 
 Make it your only goal. 
 The truth, lad, forsooth, lad, 
 
 Will make the perfect soul. 
 
 II 
 
 O the day is coming soon, lad. 
 
 Its rosy dawn I see, 
 When peace shall reign o'er all the earth 
 
 And men shall brothers be. 
 No vulgar rich shall grind the poor, 
 
 No one shall be in need. 
 For liberty shall be the law. 
 
 And love the working creed. 
 When golden deeds from golden thoughts 
 
 Shall crown our every plan. 
 Then love, lad, will prove, lad, 
 
 The brotherhood of man. 
 
 II 
 
S)toeet 31une 
 
 I AM NOT BLIND* 
 
 I 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 Though eyes are closed to flower and sky and 
 
 sod 
 And to those childhood spots where oft I've 
 
 trod — 
 O ! men are blind whose souls are bhnd to God. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 2 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 So long as faith within the heart can prove 
 That all rich blessings come from Him above. 
 I feel the brooding of a Father's love. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 3 
 
 I am not blind ; 
 
 For who is blind whose trust is strong, serene? 
 Who sees the real in the realm unseen? 
 The things that perish are the things now seen. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 4 
 
 I am not blind ; 
 
 For on my path before, all's light! all's light! 
 
 * To Mrs. Wm. Robb, Helena Station, Kentucky. 
 
 12 
 
S)toeet 3fune 
 
 (That soul sees most who knows and does the 
 
 right. 
 He is not blind who walks by faith not sight. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 5 
 I am not blind, 
 
 iWhen golden grace weighs more than blackened 
 
 dross, 
 
 And heaven's gain counts more than earthly loss. 
 
 I am not blind ! I see ! I bear my cross ! 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 6 
 
 I am not blind ; 
 
 For God made eyes on all my finger-tips 
 Ay ! when I kiss I know my children's lips. 
 Love may be blind, but mothers make no slips. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 7 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 I know the spot where every home-bush grows ; 
 I feel sweet violet's breath as now it blows. 
 I see the blossom of my favorite rose. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 8 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 Age cannot dim these eyes with which I see, 
 'Nor death's damps quench this heaven-born light 
 in me. 
 
 13 
 
©toeet 3Iune 
 
 The light from God shines on eternally. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 Before 'twas dark, till I my Savior met ; 
 He spoke the word, and in the sunshine let. 
 O! my soul's sun shall never, never set. 
 
 I am not blind. 
 
 THE filRTH OF MAY 
 
 I 
 
 Men and maidens, come together 
 In this fair and bright May weather ; 
 Come ! with graceful step — advance 
 And 'round the merry May-pole dance ; 
 O taste these heart- joys while they last. 
 Leave dark-browed sorrow with the past. 
 
 2 
 
 O lovely morn so sweet and still. 
 That bodes to man no thought of ill. 
 Breathe softly thy warm breath, O Spring; 
 As odorous buds are blossoming, 
 While virgin leaves tune with the wind, 
 And bees leave trails of sweet behind. 
 
 14 
 
Stoeet 3fune 
 
 3 
 Come, come and drouse no more abed. 
 When birds for hours have matins said. 
 The sun's been up an hour or two 
 And sucked from every flower the dew. 
 Come ! usher in this glad new day — 
 The sweet nativity of May. 
 
 4 
 See! the whole woodland swell in sight 
 With budding beauty fair and bright. 
 Dost thou not hear the brooklet sing — 
 A living and a vocal thing. 
 And how the field lark to be free 
 Pours forth his flood of melody. 
 
 5 
 O come and celebrate this morn 
 
 When jewels every blade adorn. 
 
 For love on such an hour as this, 
 
 Would break the silence with a kiss, 
 
 And paint her blush on every flower, 
 
 And smile with every passing shower. 
 
 6 
 Come now while violets blow and peep. 
 While thrushes sing, and robins cheep, 
 While lillies pale, and bridegroom's posies 
 Steal blushes red from damask roses. 
 This is the hour to crown our Queen, 
 When snow has gone from gown of green. 
 
 15 
 
S»toeet 3fune 
 
 THE CROWNING OF THE QUEEN 
 
 O lady fair 
 With swan-like neck and golden hair. 
 
 With eyes sky-blue 
 And ruby lips of wine-like hue. 
 
 Thy sweet young face 
 Bears every mark of virgin grace. 
 
 Thy lips apart 
 Reveal what never could be made by art — 
 
 A pearly row 
 'Tween which the words of kindness flow. 
 
 Thou angel born! 
 As innocent as this pure morn. 
 
 Thy sweet head's set 
 Was made for this fair coronet. 
 
 Let me, fair Queen, 
 Adorn thy brow with this May-green ; 
 
 And may thy fame 
 Rest with thy heart, not with thy name. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S RESPONSE 
 
 This is my bliss, 
 Just such an hour as this. 
 
 This wreath of flowers, 
 
 i6 
 
S^toeet 3futte 
 
 Made from the sun and showers, 
 
 Is grander far 
 Than monarch's crown or star. 
 
 Chaplets ne'er fade 
 If they are planned and made 
 
 By Love's own hand. 
 The wear of time they'll stand, 
 
 Not even death 
 Can frost them with his breath. 
 
 This blest May morn 
 How Nature's green adorn? 
 
 Our songs we raise 
 To our Creator's praise ; 
 
 Star, sun and sea 
 Join in our symphony. 
 
 All souls as one 
 Blend in sweet unison 
 
 To sing this day 
 The gladsome birth of May. 
 
 ODE TO THE SKY-LARK 
 
 I 
 
 Up, up, up, he goes ! 
 Up from a world of woes. 
 
 Bearing the sky upon his wings. 
 
 Hark! how he sweetly sings, 
 With his breast to the earth below. 
 
 17 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 2 
 
 Thou art no bird, but a wandering voice 
 Singing of immortality — God's highest choice 
 
 Of all ethereal bards. 
 In song thou hast no equal mate; 
 Thou feathery poet laureate. 
 
 3 
 
 Oft when I hear thy morning song. 
 
 My thoughts are softly borne along 
 
 From earth's retreat 
 When thou art rising from the sod, 
 Echoed — I hear the voice of God, 
 
 From thy notes sweet. 
 
 4 
 
 Melodious songster of the air, 
 
 Earth's not thy home, though green and fair— 
 
 A resting place- 
 To breathe awhile thy mortal breath. 
 Then thou dost mount from sin and death 
 With winging grace. 
 
 5 
 Great soul ! thou singest thoughts to me, 
 
 Sublimer far than man's can be. 
 
 From book or rote. 
 God, love and immortality are all 
 Like cloud-born dew drops when they fall 
 
 From thy clear note. 
 
 i8 
 
8)toeet 3fune 
 
 6 
 
 Soar on thou charmer of the spring, 
 Aad let the deep blue kiss thy wing — 
 
 Thou poet's pet. 
 If stars could speak — ah, they would tell 
 Of strains that thou hast sung so well 
 
 Heard here, not yet. 
 
 7 
 
 A link thou art I can't define. 
 
 Between the human and divine. 
 
 Long wilt thou teach 
 That man in all his shame and woe. 
 Though fallen to sin's depths below, 
 
 Great heights may reach. 
 
 8 
 Soon wilt thou turn to silent dust. 
 Back to thy birthplace go thou must — 
 
 Ethereal slave. 
 Skies mock thee now, thou once didst prize, 
 Kind mother earth thou didst despise, 
 
 Is now thy grave. 
 
 9 
 
 O soul when thou hast nobly risen 
 
 From thy cold, dark, and crumb'ling prison- 
 Death is no more. 
 
 But when thou fallest from the sky, 
 
 Sprite of the air! it is to die — 
 Thy flight is o'er. 
 
 19 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 10 
 
 God oft has used small things of love, 
 To show man's greatness, and to prove 
 
 His own divinity. 
 In mortal flesh a soul's concealed 
 Man's moral wrecks have oft revealed 
 
 His grand nativity. 
 
 II 
 
 For every grief that salts our tears 
 There is a joy which lights and cheers- 
 Makes strong our trust. 
 Though dark the depths of sin may be, 
 There is a height where souls are free 
 From shame and lust. 
 
 BUBBA LOVE 
 
 O Lord, I thank Thee for sending Bubba Love 
 into my life. He has helped me to live better 
 and love stronger since he has come. In him I 
 see the man in the boy, the divine in the human. 
 Spare his life, that he may grow to manhood, for 
 I want to see how much a man he can be. May 
 we be given grace to grow together. May he 
 never be ashamed of me, may I never be ashamed 
 of him. Help us both to be men, in every mean- 
 ing of that term. In his sickness I have known. 
 Thy solace, and felt the strength of Thy guiding 
 
 20 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 hand. Thou hast made the bitter sweet, and the 
 burden Hght. The Httle leg that went to sleep 
 awakened my soul, so that I am conscious of 
 blessings which I never dreamed of possess- 
 ing. God bless and keep my Bubba Love, and 
 may there ever be as much man in the man, as I 
 see now in the boy. Amen. 
 
 I 
 
 O BUBBA LOVE ! I often wish your troubles 
 
 I could share, 
 My heart is just a-breaking now, to see you lying 
 
 there ; 
 And where no eye can fall on me, I often quietly 
 
 weep — 
 I^m thinking of my dearest boy, whose little leg's 
 
 asleep. 
 
 II 
 
 No more to play at hide-and-seek in this bright 
 summer time; 
 
 No more to run and romp and jump, the gar- 
 den fence to dim' ; 
 
 No more to ride on father's back, nor on your 
 fours to creep — 
 
 For in the cast of plaster is your little leg asleep. 
 
 Ill 
 
 And when the doctors came that morn, to bind 
 that leg of thine, 
 
 21 
 
Sioeet 3fune 
 
 I wished at that time, Bubba Love, it just a-had 
 
 been mine. 
 O! I would freely suffer, for the joy to see you 
 
 leap, 
 And gladly give you mine, my boy, for your's 
 
 that is asleep. 
 
 IV 
 
 So put away the hobby horse, the wagon, and the 
 
 clothes ; 
 And hide away the little shoes, worn out at heel 
 
 and toes. 
 His cap and belt and stockings, in some secret 
 
 corner keep — 
 For now he cannot wear them, while his little 
 
 leg's asleep. 
 
 V 
 
 And when I see him lying there, with mist mine 
 
 eyes get dim ; 
 So then I bravely force a smile, and sit and play 
 
 with him — 
 For I must climb the hill of fate I find so hard 
 
 and steep, 
 And bear up nobly for the boy whose leg is now 
 
 asleep 
 
 VI 
 When oft' I hear the other boys both shout and 
 
 laugh and talk, 
 I look not in their faces, but I just look at them 
 
 walk; 
 
 22 
 
Stpeet 3fune 
 
 And then I get to thinking why my boy such 
 
 pain should reap — 
 I feel sort of rebellious, while his leg is now 
 
 asleep. 
 
 VII 
 
 God ever reigns above me, and the Christ beside 
 
 Him stands ; 
 What fear I for the future when all things are 
 
 in His hands ! 
 He who feeds the meanest sparrow, will guard 
 
 His lambs and sheep, 
 And send the angels to my boy whose leg is now 
 
 asleep. 
 
 VIII 
 The debt of love to mother, I'll ne'er cancel I 
 
 allow. 
 But through my darling Bubba I am paying it 
 
 just now. 
 His pains and aches, like lances keen, down in 
 
 my heart cut deep — 
 I'm suff'ring for my Bubba while his little leg's 
 
 asleep. 
 
 IX 
 That little leg, God bless it ! it will make me yet 
 
 a man. 
 I know that He back yonder must have put it in 
 
 His plan 
 To keep my soul in patience, and the rubbish 
 
 from me sweep: 
 
 23 
 
S)toeet 3fune 
 
 I feel that's what He's doing while my boy's leg 
 is asleep. 
 
 X 
 
 A captured beam of sunlight sweet, he lies with- 
 out a frown; 
 
 I tell you, folks, I do believe that heaven has 
 come down, 
 
 For all around his Httle bed I see the cherubs 
 peep, 
 
 The rustle of their wings I hear, while Bubba's 
 leg's asleep. 
 
 XI 
 
 If I ever get to heaven, 111 go by Bubba's stair — 
 It's only through Christ in him I ever will get 
 
 there. 
 And God just dropped an angel down, upon this 
 
 mundane heap, 
 When He dropped down my Bubba Love, and 
 
 put his leg to sleep. 
 
 XII 
 Go hide away the crutches now, and throw away 
 
 the cast; 
 Though dark the clouds of sorrow hang, they do 
 
 not always last. 
 O! I feel the burden rolling; with joy my heart 
 
 does break; 
 O ! don't you see me smiling now ? Thank God ! 
 
 his leg's awake. 
 
 24 
 
Stoeet 3fune 
 
 REQUIEM 
 
 I 
 
 Lay me low ! lay me low ! 
 Where the blue-eyed violets blow. 
 Where the drooping willow weeps, 
 And the rose so softly sleeps. 
 
 2 
 
 Let me dream ! let me dream ! 
 Where the quiet, pellucid stream 
 Flows a-crooning in its bed. 
 Sweet my dreams be, though I'm dead. 
 
 3 
 Let me lie ! let me lie ! 
 
 Where the winds go sighing by. 
 
 As I feel their cooling breath 
 
 I dream on, the dream of death. 
 
 4 
 
 Let me sleep ! let me sleep ! 
 
 W^hile the loved ones o'er me weep. 
 Sleeping on dear nature's breast 
 With the things I loved the best. 
 
 5 
 
 Why weep ye ? why weep ye ? 
 
 Where the grass waves over me. 
 25 
 
@)toeet 3fune 
 
 I know not your earthly sorrow, 
 I dream of the golden morrow. 
 
 6 
 Tm awake! I'm awake! 
 Now this earthen shell I break. 
 Wakened from the sleep of death. 
 Thrilling with the throb of breath. 
 
 7 
 Let me rise ! let me rise ! 
 O my soul has wings — it flies 
 From its prison in the earth 
 Back to where it had its birth. 
 
 8 
 Do I die? Do I die? 
 Like the sun, the star, and sky. 
 Souls were made for spheres sublime- 
 Scorners of the earth and time. 
 
 9 
 There's no dread! there's no dread! 
 
 Though the shades enshroud my bed. 
 
 Gives me life, the angel death 
 
 In exchange for mortal breath. 
 
 26 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 THE SONG OF THE LOOM 
 With Apologies to Thomas Hood 
 
 I 
 
 Weary, languid and worn, 
 
 On the verge of poverty's brink, 
 A woman stood one summer's day 
 
 Exhausted and ready to sink. 
 And whilst the silver mercury rose 
 
 To a hundred in her room, 
 In the bitterest and saddest of womanly tones 
 
 She sang "The Song of the Loom." 
 
 2 
 "Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While the sweat drops from the head. 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While the hands are stiff and dead. 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While the feet are tired and sore. 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 Till I can weave no more. 
 
 3 
 
 "Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While drunken husbands roam. 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While children starve at home. 
 
 27 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 Misery, sickness, death, 
 
 Poverty, sorrow, crime, 
 And who can keep these wolves from the door 
 
 In this soul-selHng time? 
 
 4 
 "Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 With scarcely a breath to draw. 
 When work is done, at the setting sun, 
 
 To go home to a bed of straw. 
 I scarce can get the bread 
 
 Myself and children to keep. 
 Alas! that dollars should be so dear, ■ 
 
 And human blood so cheap. 
 
 5 
 ''Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While motherless babies cry. 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While widows and orphans sigh 
 For the fields rich brown, away from town 
 
 The meadows green and fair. 
 For a scent of the flowers, in the after showers. 
 
 And a breath of the country air. 
 
 6 
 *'Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While the wheels of fortune turn 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While fools have money to burn. 
 While deep in the muck, of the gambler's luck, 
 Staking all his green-back roll. 
 
 28 
 
@)toeet 3fune 
 
 At home is the wife, wearing out her life, 
 And grinding her weary soul. 
 
 7 
 ''Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 From early morn till night, 
 Till my back is sore, with bending o'er, 
 
 Till my lips are parched and white. 
 A countless number of times I fix 
 
 The weary shuttle and thread, 
 Till my heart is sick, my brain is dull 
 
 And my limbs are numb and dead. 
 
 8 
 "Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 Till my eyes are dim and red. 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 Till my arms are lumps of lead. 
 Shuttle and thread, and beam, 
 
 Beam and shuttle and thread, 
 Till my soul breaks from its mortal chain, 
 
 And the grave's my welcome bed. 
 
 9 
 
 ''Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While the wealthy waste and spend. 
 
 Weave — weave — weave ! 
 
 While others have gold to lend. 
 
 But I must work, like a galley Turk, 
 For a pittance again, and again. 
 
 While the Corporate Beast, on dividends feast- 
 Making machines of men. 
 
 29 
 
@»toeet 3fune 
 
 10 
 
 "Weary, languid and worn 
 
 On the verge of poverty's brink, 
 A w^oman stood one summer day 
 
 Exhausted and ready to sink. 
 And v^hilst the silver mercury rose 
 
 To a hundred in her room, 
 In the bitterest and saddest of womanly tones 
 (Would that the rich might hear her moans) 
 
 She sang the 'Song of the Loom.' " 
 
 BURLESQUE ON THE GOLDEN CALF 
 
 The ravages of dire disease still makes the old 
 
 world sad. 
 But there's one that folks are wanting, it's the 
 
 one called "money mad." 
 If you ain't inoculated, you are simply not the 
 
 "thing," 
 For a fellow's friends are legion while the 
 
 mighty dollars ring. 
 
 2 
 
 As soon as people find it out, you haven't got the 
 
 gold, 
 They will cut you, they will snub you, they will 
 
 treat you rather cold. 
 
 30 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 With an empty purse and pocket, you can feel 
 
 their social sting. 
 For a fellow's friends are legion while the mighty 
 
 dollars ring. 
 
 3 
 
 So every one's a stretching out to knock the 
 
 golden fruit, 
 It matters not if you're a man, or just a biped 
 
 brute. 
 If you stand well with your banker, you can still 
 
 keep on the wing. 
 For a fellow's friends are legion while the 
 
 mighty dollars ring. 
 
 4 
 
 You must some how get the money, get it any- 
 way you can. 
 
 "What matters if it's tainted, it's the measure of 
 the man. 
 
 It's the only genuine passport into the social 
 "swing," 
 
 For a fellow's friends are legion while the 
 mighty dollars ring. 
 
 5 
 Life seems to be smooth sailing, as long as lasts 
 
 the "salt." 
 If the Bible is your bank book, and your god is 
 
 in the vault, 
 .You can play the very devil, still the throng your 
 
 plaudits sing. 
 
 31 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 A fellow hasn't any faults while mighty dollars 
 ring. 
 
 6 
 
 To man you are an idol, if he knows you hold 
 
 the sack. 
 He will cross the street to greet you, he will slap 
 
 you on the back. 
 He will break his neck to please you, and at you 
 
 bouquets fling. 
 You are bully fellow while the mighty dollars 
 
 ring. 
 
 7 
 The hostess, she will greet you, and aloud your 
 
 praises sound. 
 And on a silver waiter she will hand you all 
 
 around. 
 For you are just the kind of fish the mammas 
 
 want to "string." 
 Yes, the girlies go man-baiting, while the mighty 
 
 dollars ring. 
 
 8 
 
 Down like a cloud of locusts, sweep your most 
 
 devoted kin. 
 As soon as they discover you have fallen heir to 
 
 "tin." 
 They will wine you, they will dine you, to your 
 
 conversation cling. 
 Yes, a fellow's kin are legion while the mighty 
 
 dollars ring. 
 
 32 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 9 
 Oh, what if you can clearly trace your lineage 
 
 to the "Flood." 
 The morals of the man don't count, nor quality 
 
 of blood. 
 You are not to-day's aristocrat, if you lack the 
 
 yellow "thing/' 
 For a fellow's blood is bluest, while the mighty 
 
 dollars ring. 
 
 10 
 
 Man's only freedom's when he lives above the 
 grasp of greed. 
 
 He may have little here below, and yet be rich 
 indeed. 
 
 Though he be poor, and live obscure, from hum- 
 ble parents spring. 
 
 Yet he can stan' and be a man, while mighty 
 dollars ring. 
 
 LET'S GO ON 
 
 I 
 
 Heavy though may be the load, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 What if thorns grow on the road ? 
 
 Let's go on. 
 After night soon dawns the day, 
 'Round the cloud's a silver ray. 
 
 33 
 
S>toeet 3[une 
 
 Sun and flowers will come in May. 
 Let's go on. 
 
 2 
 
 Though we have our ups and downs, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Never mind the scoffs and frowns, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Trouble's ghosts, though strong and tall, 
 Brave them though the heavens fall ; 
 We can face and fight them all. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 3 
 
 We are here to do the right, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Though it often means a fight. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Blood is nothing as to cost. 
 When it flows for truth at most, 
 All is lost when honor's lost. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 4 
 Now's the time to dare and do. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Man's no man, if he's untrue. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 In thy valor youth arise ! 
 Grasp with all thy might the prize. 
 He who wins, is he who tries. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 34 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 5 
 Some poor fellow needs a hand 
 
 Let's go on. 
 We can lift him, help him stand 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Speak to him a word of cheer, 
 Whisper comfort in his ear, 
 Make him smile and dry his tear. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 6 
 
 We'll be true unto the last, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Bitter blows the battle's blast. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 With a courage strong we'll go 
 To the breast-works of the foe, 
 And we'll give him blow for blow. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 7 
 
 We will fear not trouble's rod, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 If we fear, we'll fear our God, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 From the furnace comes pure gold, 
 Spring buds after winter's cold. 
 Men get mellow when they're old. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 35 
 
Stoeet 3fune 
 
 8 
 Our dark passions we'll subdue. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Life is naught, if it's not true. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Make of self a stepping stone, 
 On it climb the heights alone, 
 Though with many a wound and groan. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 9 
 
 "Hitch your wagon to a star," 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Though it twinkles from afar. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Keep your eye upon its gleams, 
 And mount upward on its beams, 
 In the star there shine our dreams. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 10 
 
 Souls were never made to die, 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Hearts are beating 'yond the sky; 
 
 Let's go on. 
 Gives me life the angel death, 
 In exchange for mortal breath. 
 "Fm the Life," the Saviour saith. 
 
 Let's go on. 
 
 36 
 
©toeet 31une 
 
 ODE TO THE MOUNT 
 
 I 
 
 sovran Mount! thou hast a charm alone 
 For mortals touched with true poetic fire, 
 A charm that's indefinable, I own 
 
 That lifts our spirits higher. 
 
 2 
 
 1 know not where it lies, at head or base; 
 Above thy silent seas of virgin snow. 
 
 Or at thy feet where foaming waters chase 
 Each other in their flow. 
 
 3 
 
 I know it's there — I feel it in my soul 
 
 The touch invisible — as I climb hence 
 Thy smoky ridges to thy ice-capped goal. 
 I hear thy eloquence. 
 
 4 
 The upland sights I see, and sounds I hear 
 Are foreign to the symphonies of earth. 
 O Music's Mount ! thou hast not seen man's tear. 
 Nor heard his song of mirth. 
 
 5 
 Yet worship's glorious in thy crystal shrine; 
 
 Enrapt, transfused, transfigured I stand there. 
 
 37 
 
@)toeet 3Iune 
 
 God-filled Mount ! 'midst atmosphere divine 
 
 I kneel entranced in prayer. 
 
 6 
 
 1 see thy beauteous peak thro' cloudland's rift, 
 Pierce the pale sky with a consummate grace; 
 And to the silent heavens thou dost hft 
 
 Thy white and shining face. 
 
 7 
 
 O, Mount of Freedom, raise your voice and 
 
 speak, 
 And ring your message thro' the tingling air — 
 **Come, mortals, all within my bosom seek 
 The cure for fret and care." 
 
 8 
 
 And when the white-winged day to rest has 
 
 flown 
 Fades from thy brow the sunset's crimson bars; 
 Then thro' the solemn night thou dost alone 
 Commune with troops of stars. 
 
 9 
 
 The smile of dawn thou art the first to greet, 
 
 And o'er thy face she throws her golden veil, 
 
 While Nature's sweetly sleeping at thy feet, 
 
 And mist-wrapped is the vale. 
 
 lO 
 
 Yet barb'rous thou wilt be unto the last, 
 Nature's chaste touch can never make thee mild ; 
 
 38 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 Not all the ages of the glorious past, 
 
 Have tamed thy spirit wild. 
 
 II 
 
 O mother of the avalanche and pine ! 
 
 Where light'nings 'round thy head have played 
 
 and torn 
 Out from thy fertile womb— O Mount divine — 
 The baby streams were born. 
 
 12 
 
 O Temple Mount ! let me with holy fear 
 
 Kneel reverently within thy sacred shrine, 
 
 On these throned heights, I know that God is 
 
 here, — 
 
 Omnipotent, Divine. 
 
 CENTENARY ODE TO LINCOLN 
 1809 — 1909 
 
 I 
 
 Hail son of liberty! 
 
 Rests green the laurel on thy noble brow. 
 
 O Abraham of our land! 
 
 Thy righteous cause will stand. 
 Thy glory shines upon all nations now. 
 
 39 
 
@)toeet 3[une 
 
 2 
 
 A hundred years have gone 
 
 Since winged thy soul from heaven to the earth. 
 
 O bless the natal day ! 
 
 When thy spark glowed in clay. 
 And stars and angels sung thy mortal birth. 
 
 3 
 
 A cabin thy first home — 
 
 Within its log-ribbed walls thy spirit came. 
 
 O brother of the soil! 
 
 Thou son of want and toil. 
 With gleaming ax did'st hew thy way to fame. 
 
 4 
 An empire was thy brain — 
 
 But thy great heart was tender, strong and 
 
 right. 
 
 With patriotic zeal; 
 
 Thou mad'st thy country feel 
 That shackled millions were a shameful sight. 
 
 5 
 Sent by the God of love — 
 At the right time, to act a God-like part. 
 
 To make the weakling strong; 
 
 To right the monstrous wrong. 
 And cause the truth to burn within the heart. 
 
 6 
 
 O men it was to be — 
 
 That war should come and leave its gory train. 
 
 40 
 
Stoeet 3[utte 
 
 Sad, sad it was, but true; 
 That soon our fathers knew. 
 That nought but human blood could cleanse the 
 stain. 
 
 7 
 Strong man! yet simple child — 
 
 Who felt the Father's hand in every day. 
 
 Thou, to the great white Throne ; 
 
 Didst breathe thy prayer alone. 
 And on thy knees beheld the lighted way. 
 
 8 
 
 As like a giant cliff — 
 
 That mocks the sharpened tooth of ocean's 
 Wave. 
 
 So thy tall, rugged form 
 Arose above the storm. 
 Smiled in the face of death and made men 
 brave. 
 
 9 
 Hail, son of liberty ! 
 
 Who soothed a nation's wounds and calmed its 
 
 fears, 
 
 Now all the sons of men; 
 
 Proclaim again — again 
 That greater thou dost grow with passing years. 
 
 10 
 
 Ah! thou did'st die in time — 
 
 If there^s a time elect in which to die. 
 
 41 
 
©toeet 3fiine 
 
 Deep in the battle's flood ; 
 There poured thy martyr-blood. 
 Now with thy soldier-children thou dost lie. 
 
 II 
 
 Within Columbia's breast — 
 
 All rankling hate and passion are at rest. 
 
 Our hopes and joys increase ; 
 
 *'01d Glory" waves in peace. 
 Thank God! No North, no South, no East, no 
 West. 
 
 THE OULEOUT IN JUNE. 
 
 Sweet ouleout! thy beauty charms 
 
 The soul of one who has the eye. 
 
 The true deep sense of poesy. 
 
 'Tis a delight to see thee now 
 
 Sleep on and dream among the grass 
 
 And flowers, soft-breathing in the sun; 
 
 Kissed by its beams of fire and gold. 
 
 Ouleout ! in thy pure face 
 
 1 see fairest of June-blue skies — 
 Fleece-clouds from Nature's finest loom- 
 A livery fit for gods to' wear. 
 
 And, when the twilight, gray and still. 
 Greets the faint blush of fading day, 
 I see all twinkling, glittering there 
 The diamond stars upon thy breast 
 
 42 
 
S)toeet 3fune 
 
 And, as they breathe their vesper hymns — 
 
 All turn to dreams within my soul. 
 
 O Song-delight to thee and me ! 
 
 Sweet Ouleout — my earth-born heaven! 
 
 Prized gem of Nature, pure, serene ; 
 
 Much would I give to know thy thoughts- 
 
 Thy speech primeval, and thy dreams — 
 
 How I would love to make them all 
 
 My own, and in thy innocence 
 
 Live as becometh Nature's child. 
 
 Sweet Baby-stream so beauteous ! 
 
 So simple and so innocent, 
 
 Alas ! too soon, lost wilt thou be 
 
 In the dark river's restless breast. 
 
 But pray, loved Ouleout, sing on! 
 
 Thy song of sun-bathed hills, and dales. 
 
 Of blowing flowers, and piping birds, 
 
 Or drowsy clouds, and dreaming stars. 
 
 When in the dark, strange, swirling depths 
 
 Sing on ! as thou art whisp'ring now 
 
 Thy music through the emerald way. 
 
 THE NATIVITY 
 I 
 There's a Star in the East to-night, 
 
 And it sings through the hallowed air; 
 Of all the trembling stars in sight, 
 It's the brightest that I see there. 
 It smiles with its silvery eyes to me 
 
 43 
 
^\jotct 31une 
 
 Through the night till the rosy morn. 
 And it shines from above, this message of love, 
 'The Christ the Lord is born.'' 
 
 2 
 
 Strange music I'm hearing to-night, 
 
 O my soul it deeply thrills ! 
 Throbs the air with the song-delight ; 
 
 Till the earth with heaven it fills, 
 And wave on wave of its melody. 
 
 Sweeps on through the night till morn. 
 Spheres distant sing, of the birth of the King, 
 
 The Christ the Lord is born. 
 
 3 
 There are angels around to-night; 
 
 In white-tlaming circles swing 
 To the earth from the Gates of Light. 
 
 And the dream-world wakes as they sing, 
 "All glory to God in the highest," 
 
 Through the night till the golden morn. 
 I know by the strain, of their grand refrain 
 
 The Christ the Lord is born. 
 
 4 
 There's a Babe and a mother to-night, 
 
 And she folds llim to her breast; 
 She kisses His soft cheek white, 
 
 And hushes Him sweetly to rest, 
 Sheds the Star new glory on His head, 
 Smile the angels on the morn, 
 Holds Mary at last, the Love-Gift fast, 
 The Ciirist the Lord is born. 
 
 44 
 
%\x}ttt 3fune 
 
 ODE TO STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER 
 Author of ''My Old Kentucky Home'' 
 
 I 
 
 Hail, singer to the common heart! 
 Hail to thy great soul-stirring art ! 
 Thy melodies make tear-drops start 
 
 From many an eye. 
 Simplicity — soul of thine art, 
 
 Can never die. 
 
 2 
 
 Who gave thee power to charm the throng 
 And bid our carking cares go 'long? 
 Who made thy notes both sweet and strong 
 
 And men take heart? 
 God breathed in thee thy soul-born song 
 
 And 'spired thine art. 
 
 3 
 
 Your scores have not great Handel's ring; 
 
 No Mozart's sweep, Wagnerian swing, 
 Than Kubelik with bow and string; 
 
 Or classic thrill. 
 Thy dear old songs which millions sing, 
 
 Are sweeter still. 
 
 4 
 
 Whate'er the place, where'er we roam. 
 
 In pauper's hut, 'neath palace dome; 
 
 45 
 
%\x>ttt 3fune 
 
 On mountain's height, or ocean's foam, 
 
 In this old ball, 
 It is the themes of love and home. 
 
 That touch us all. 
 
 5 
 
 O King- of Song, thou rul'st alone! 
 
 Song lovers many, 'neath the sun, 
 
 Thy rhythmic scales their heart-strings thrum- 
 Dots, spaces, line. 
 
 Surely thou reignest on thy throne 
 By right divine ! 
 
 6 
 
 Like frosted leaf we fade away; 
 Death brings an end to our brief day — • 
 But thou wilt live in song for aye — 
 
 Just tribute due, 
 Though hidden all thy mortal clay 
 
 From human view. 
 
 7 
 O grave, there's naught within thy fold 
 But silent dust, and with'ring mold, 
 The cank'ring worm, and clammy cold; 
 
 Make home with thee. 
 But thou hast not, though cycles old, 
 
 A song for me. 
 
 8 
 Upon thy noble classic brow 
 The wreath of glory crowns it now. 
 
 46 
 
^toeet 3fune 
 
 No sweeter singer, this I trow, 
 Of race or name, 
 
 Has left with mortals high or low 
 A greater fame. 
 
 THE POT-HOUSE POLITICIAN. 
 
 I 
 
 Old Kentucky is the center of the world's fair 
 
 garden spot. 
 Dear Nature put fine finishing upon her Blue 
 
 Grass plot. 
 But the stain upon her honor, and the blackest 
 
 of her flaws 
 Is the breed of men that she has raised to 
 
 frame and pass her laws. 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a sleeping 
 
 underground. 
 
 2 
 
 O it's awful when you think that men like cattle 
 can be sold; 
 
 It's getting now that they will do most any- 
 thing for gold. 
 
 Men will auction off their conscience, they will 
 sell their very blood; 
 
 And for the filthy lucre they will wallow in the 
 mud. ' 
 
 47 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a wallowing- 
 
 underground. 
 
 3 
 Some men can talk of liberty and never feel its 
 
 flame, 
 And patriotism is to some a dead and empty 
 
 name; 
 We can breathe the air of freedom, and be a 
 
 skulking slave, 
 Face the cannon-mouth and musket, and yet fill 
 
 a coward's grave. 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a canting 
 
 underground. 
 
 4 
 
 You tell me that the sight of war would make 
 the blood congeal, 
 
 Where brother murders brother-man, with bullet 
 and cold steel. 
 
 Worse murders at the polls are rife, where 
 souls they buy and sell ; 
 
 Yes ! down in Old Kaintuck you'll find that poli- 
 tics is hell. 
 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 would found 
 
 If her pot-house politicians were a burning 
 underground. 
 
 48 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 5 
 The lust men have for politics is the burning 
 
 lust for pelf; 
 It's not the golden rule that works, it is the 
 
 rule of self. 
 It's coercion and the dollar that puts legislation 
 
 through, 
 And paying to Boss Peter for the votes he 
 
 bought for you. 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a lobbying 
 
 underground. 
 
 6 
 So do the least of service, but get all the graft 
 
 you can, 
 And watch your opportunity to knife the other 
 
 man; 
 O guard with care the party tree, for the fall 
 
 of office fruit; 
 For the pulling of the wire is but the pulling 
 
 of the brute. 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a wiring 
 
 underground. 
 
 7 
 No obstacle can stay his way, the measure must 
 
 go through ; 
 I£ it suits his better purpose he will cut the vote 
 
 in two. 
 
 49 
 
©toeet 3Iune 
 
 The ballot he makes large or small, he's done 
 
 it time again ; 
 With a bottle of fire-water he will buy the votes 
 
 of men. 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a stealing 
 
 underground. 
 
 8 
 
 Though strong may be his cuss'ed greed, he 
 can't satisfy it all. 
 
 The pie won't last forever, his pride must have 
 a fall. 
 
 From his throne of power unseated, sad, un- 
 honored is his end. 
 
 Then the party goes to mourning, and his ob- 
 sequies attend. 
 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 would found 
 
 If her pot-house politicians were a mourning 
 underground. 
 
 9 
 So down in Pandemonium, of its spoils he'll 
 
 have a share. 
 Soon he'll hold a secret caucus, he will run for 
 
 office there. 
 And if the devil ever tries of the graft-pot to 
 
 get rid, 
 The pot-house politician will be knocking off 
 
 the lid. 
 
 50 
 
@»toeet 31utie 
 
 O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
 
 would found 
 If her pot-house politicians were a grafting 
 
 underground. 
 
 LIFE 
 
 I 
 
 Life is too short — to waste our precious min- 
 utes one by one 
 In silly vaunting of our high-born powers; 
 Too short for aught but daily duty nobly done, 
 Pure thoughts, kind deeds should fill our 
 passing hours. 
 
 2 
 
 Life is too short — to nurse our spite, of discord 
 sow the seed 
 In men, or look with envious eyes on other's 
 
 pelf; 
 Too short to cultivate the selfishness of self. 
 Or feed upon the dust-dried fruit of greed. 
 
 3 
 Life is too short — to compromise with wrong 
 
 or jest with sin; 
 
 To bring the standard of our ideal down. 
 
 Life's short enough to fight our fight and win, 
 
 To bear our cross, and gain the victor's 
 
 crown. 
 
 51 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 4 
 Life is too short — then murmur not when duty 
 
 comes to thee 
 And puts her yoke of care upon thy heart ; 
 She brings her salve to make thy soul-eyes see 
 That of God's plan thou art a destined part. 
 
 5 
 Life is too short — then learn by faith to live 
 
 life's little day, 
 In trust serene, and sweet content — repose. 
 To thy to-day bring not the trials of yesterday, 
 And leave to-morrow's cares with Him who 
 
 knows. 
 
 6 
 Life is too short — then bear your burden well, 
 and fight your fight. 
 Meet disappointment with unfaltering mien, 
 And trust in God to lead you in the right. 
 
 The fight we dread is oft unfought — unseen. 
 
 7 
 Life is too short — then love the truth that knows 
 not how to die, 
 And on it build thy soul — God-breathed — 
 God-given. 
 Build slow, build well, build true, build high. 
 Build up to God, and you shall never die. 
 
 52 
 
Stoeet 3fune 
 
 8 
 Life is too short — then stand on virtue's side — 
 this is the end 
 For which God made us all — a clean, white 
 soul, 
 Whom lust dare not insinuate, that it would 
 bend 
 To things debasing, spoken or untold. 
 
 9 
 Life is too short — then never say "I can't" to 
 aught that's in your way. 
 But may the voice of patience say "Be still." 
 Whatever duties meet thee day by day 
 
 Ne'er say **I ought," but always say "I zmll/' 
 
 10 
 
 Life is too short — then live it well, that you 
 may live again 
 
 The higher, purer, nobler life above. 
 Be brave, be pure, be true ; a man of men — 
 
 Incarnate faith — a paragon of love. 
 
 II 
 
 Life is too short — but not too short, ah ! not 
 too short for love. 
 
 For love lives on forever and forever. 
 Her cross is here, her shining crown — above. 
 
 Can love e'er die? Oh, never — never. 
 
 Life is too short — but love is ever — ever. 
 
 53 
 
%)Wttt 3fune 
 
 A LIFE-PRAYER 
 
 O Lord, I thank Thee for Hfe, and for the 
 privilege of Hving it, for faith to strengthen it, 
 hope to brighten it, love to sweeten it, and truth 
 to enlighten it. May the duty of each day be 
 performed faithfully, responsibility met bravely, 
 opportunity embraced heartily ; and while I 
 must not wish for sorrow, yet when it comes, 
 help me, O Lord, to find Thy sweet portion in 
 it and in its darkness may I ever look for the 
 glints of Thy welcome sunshine. To everything 
 which in Thy wisdom Thou dost send to my 
 life, may I be able to say with sincerity, *'Thy 
 w^ill be done." Give me the grace to be cour- 
 ageous in danger, patient in suffering, pure in 
 thought, kind in deed, and true in friendship. 
 Make me unswerving in my progress towards 
 my ideal ; may I disdain to lower it, even though 
 I think it impossible to attain it ; for remind me. 
 Lord, that I can never grow enough, and above 
 all give me a clean heart, for a clean heart mak- 
 eth a pure life, and a pure life only can enter 
 a pure heaven. May I ever see and find the 
 best in my fellows, and as for their faults and 
 failings may I ever throw around them all the 
 sweet mantle of charity, knowing that with all 
 the dross around me the pure gold must lie 
 somewhere. Help me, O Lord, to find that 
 
 54 
 
S)toeet 3func 
 
 "Sweet Somewhere," and may the greatest 
 proof that I love Thee be found in my sincere 
 and unselfish love for my brother-man. And 
 when my weary soul weighs anchor, and the 
 last load of life's freight has been placed aboard, 
 cut softly and tenderly, O Lord, this earthly 
 cable that binds me to the shore of time, and 
 assure me a safe voyage across the "bar," and 
 I shall count all the pains and penalties of this 
 mortal life a privilege to bear, when knowing 
 at last I shall hear the "well done" from my 
 heavenly Pilot. — Amen. 
 
 TO MUSIC 
 I 
 
 Her soft white hand runs o'er the magic strings, 
 And from them vibrate chords so sweet and 
 low. 
 Like April violets when the spring-wind brings 
 
 Their perfume to my heart of care and woe. 
 So thy notes fragrant fall upon mine ear 
 And fill my soul with gladdening hope and 
 cheer. 
 
 O rapt'rous power, thou messenger of peace! 
 That soothes and binds up many a heart-made 
 wound. 
 
 55 
 
@)toeet 3fune 
 
 Our bitter sorrows find in thee release, 
 
 And in thy symphonies are deeply drowned. 
 And Nature's voices all, around — above. 
 Whisper in unison that *'Thou art Love." 
 
 3 
 
 Steep with thy heaven-born dew this thirsty 
 
 soul, 
 
 Give me thy balm that others often feel. 
 May all my cares be in thy chaste control. 
 
 Before thy altar let me ever kneel. 
 Pine I for thee as lovers oft before, 
 To have thee all, I'd wish that thou wert more. 
 
 4 
 O thou dost waft us from all dying things, 
 
 Bear on our souls upon thy swift- winged note. 
 Thou to the heights thy slaves of sound dost 
 bring. 
 Where thy soul-harmonies forever float. 
 But time cuts off from us thy sweet refrain, 
 Then must we walk life's weary way again. 
 
 5 
 O Queen of Sound, thy voice, thy touch divine 
 
 Grows richer, softer with each passing year. 
 (Yet 'tis a note — a melodious half-line, 
 
 I hear from thee in this decaying sphere. 
 When thy half-notes enthrall this mortal throng, 
 What must it be to hear thy perfect song? 
 
 56 
 
©toeet 3Iune 
 
 EVOLUTION 
 
 I 
 
 From the tiny seed 
 
 A flower. 
 From the floating cloud 
 
 A shower. 
 
 2 
 
 From the morning sky 
 
 A lark. 
 From the glowing fire 
 
 A spark. 
 
 From the heart s desire 
 
 A prayer. 
 From the hero's lips 
 
 A dare. 
 
 4 
 From the sovereign will 
 
 An act. 
 From eternal truth 
 
 A fact. 
 
 5 
 From the saddened heart 
 
 A pain. 
 
 57 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 From the Christian's loss 
 A gain. 
 
 6 
 
 From the well-run race 
 
 A goal. 
 From the dying dust 
 
 A soul. 
 
 TO A PRIMROSE 
 
 I 
 
 Sweet flower! why art thou weeping there 
 
 Why — never glad ? 
 When all the baby-flowers are fair, 
 
 Why art thou sad? 
 
 2 
 
 I see within thy petalled lips 
 
 A pearl lie, 
 Or is't a tear that gently slips 
 
 From out your eye? 
 
 3 
 
 Why to your sobbing sadness yield? 
 
 Your face scarce seen 
 To thy companions of the field — 
 So fresh and green. 
 
 58 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 4 
 Thou hast not felt the bitter wind 
 
 In thy brief hour, 
 Nor frost that leaves death's mark behind 
 
 On many a flower. 
 
 5 
 O why is it thou canst not keep 
 
 Joy for a day? 
 
 'Tis passing strange that thou shouldst weep 
 
 Thy life away. 
 
 6 
 
 Speak, little flower, with thy sweet breath, 
 
 And tell me so. 
 Just why you grieve yourself to death — 
 
 I want to know. 
 
 7 
 O dost thou know of love subhme? 
 
 Its pain discover? 
 And hadst thou once upon a time 
 
 A fickle lover? 
 
 8 
 
 Speak, wimp'ring primrose, and make known 
 
 The reason why. 
 Thou hast in all these spring-hours blown 
 
 Grief's lullaby? 
 
 59 
 
©toeet 31une 
 
 9. 
 Has violet blue ne'er raised his head 
 
 Thee to caress? 
 Or art thou suffering from that dread- 
 Love's vv^ake fulness? 
 
 lO 
 
 Come! v^eep no more, for I can tell 
 
 By your sad eyes. 
 You love, dear primrose, love too v^rell- 
 
 I fear not wise. 
 
 II 
 
 Thy sorrow sweet is also mine 
 Our sufferings prove. 
 
 That to be loved is not divine — 
 It is to love. 
 
 12 
 
 Lift up your drooping head once more, 
 
 The sunlight greet. 
 Though thy love-wounded heart is sore, 
 
 The pain is sweet. 
 
 13 
 
 And pray remember every hour. 
 
 In shine and rain, 
 That you are not the only flower 
 
 That loved in vain. 
 
 60 
 
Stoeet 31une 
 
 BOOK I, ODE 9, HORACE 
 
 Translation 
 
 Oh, Thaliarchus, see'st thou how 
 
 The deep snow whitens old Socrates' brow? 
 
 The trees their weight of ice can scarce sus- 
 tain, 
 
 And the deep rivers groan, bound by a frozen 
 chain. 
 Dissolve the cold, throw wood upon the hearth 
 
 And cheerfully bring forth the Sabine wine; 
 Oh, Thaliarchus, yield thy soul to mirth. 
 
 And leave all carking cares to Jove divine, 
 Who, when the wind fights with the fervid 
 waves. 
 
 Can still their raging by a single word. 
 So that the cypress, nor the elm tree's leaves 
 
 E'en by a single zephyr shall be stirred. 
 "What care to-morrow brings forget, forget 
 
 The present pleasure, count it as thy gain 
 Do not despise the gentle loves, nor yet 
 
 The dance while peevish age far off remains. 
 And now the fields and open squares are sought 
 
 By gentle whispers at the appointed hour, 
 And the wild girls' betraying laugh is brought 
 
 From the dark corner of some ancient tower. 
 The pledge is snatched, the bracelet, ring or 
 
 chain. 
 While the pleased girls a slight resistance feign. 
 
 6i 
 
Stoeet 3[une 
 
 TO 
 
 I 
 
 I cannot tell you why I love you now; 
 
 Or why my heart swells to my mouth and 
 eyes. 
 
 When oft I think upon that night's surprise. 
 I cannot tell you why I made that vow; 
 
 To love you ever with my heart and mind. 
 
 'Tis a mystery that thought can never find. 
 
 2 
 
 Can I say more, "I love you"? for I feel 
 The once still waters of my soul stirred up. 
 
 Their overflow my eyes cannot conceal. 
 The sweetening thou art, in my life's cup. 
 
 My thoughts are purer, and new things I see; 
 
 The world looks now so different to me. 
 
 3 
 
 Can I say more, 'T love you"? for I vow 
 
 Within this breast a fire is burning now. 
 Oft did I try to quench it, but in vain, 
 For when I thought it dead, it blazed again. 
 
 Strange fire it is, that sets my heart aglow; 
 
 That Cupid must have kindled it, I know. 
 
 4 
 Fm happy now, but why I cannot tell. 
 
 I love, I know, I love perhaps too well. 
 
 62 
 
©toeet 3tune 
 
 O precious cup, a pleasant taste it is; 
 
 Drink I untired of its contents of bliss. 
 And all the world seems now so good and kind, 
 Of joy unfeigned — O what more can I find? 
 
 5 
 "I love you," what more then can I say? 
 My joy within increases every day. 
 
 And thy soul's currents mingle now with 
 
 mine, 
 Making Hfe purer, nobler, more divine. 
 Blood in my veins, so is thy love to me, 
 This life was nothing, till I met with thee. 
 
 SIN 
 
 I 
 
 A power I feel within, 
 
 Let men call it what they will. 
 It never can bode good to me, 
 
 But only what is ill. 
 
 2 
 
 In body, mind and soul 
 
 Dark, deep ruin it has wrought. 
 It can stunt my finer feeling. 
 
 And curb my purer thought. 
 
 3 . 
 
 Yes, call it what I will. 
 If left to have its sway, 
 
 63 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 It will drag me through the deepest mire 
 And damn my soul away. 
 
 4 
 
 The cup of honor — shame, 
 
 Yes, man can either fill ; 
 His heaven or hell upon the earth 
 
 He forges with his will. 
 
 A WOMAN'S HEART 
 
 She fain would linger when she runs away, 
 And boldly speak when silence holds her lips ; 
 
 Her wish's to have you near when you're away, 
 And let repose the hand that from yours 
 slips. 
 
 2 
 
 She feels the deepest when she jests with you, 
 And tenderest oft when frowns contract her 
 brow. 
 
 She never says, ''I never can love you," 
 Until too fearful that she loves you now. 
 
 3 
 
 A kiss to give her, ah she wants it not; 
 
 Then wonders why you never dared to do. 
 The one attempted is the one she sought; 
 
 The one denied you, she would give to you. 
 
 64 
 
^toeet 3[utte 
 
 4 
 Judge not by what she does, but does not da. 
 
 In Cupid's game she plays a skilful side. 
 The prize of love's not won by one — but two; 
 
 It's man's to seek, a woman's art to hide. 
 
 GROWTH 
 
 I 
 
 O joyous bursting of bud ! 
 
 With the life that throbs at the root; 
 Up and away from the earth, 
 
 To the sweet and sap of the fruit. 
 
 2 
 
 O nobler growth of the man! 
 
 From the foul base brute within; 
 Slave of the flesh no more — 
 
 Master of passion and sin. 
 
 3 
 
 Grow in the service of love ! 
 
 Away from the venom of hate; 
 Allured by the call of the good, 
 
 To the heights of the pure and the great, 
 
 4 
 Lord help me to grow always — 
 
 Grow 'neath the cross and the rod. 
 Hourly and daily to feel 
 
 The thrill and throb of my God. 
 
 6s 
 
S>toeet 3[une 
 
 THE LOSS OF H. M. S. VICTORIA 
 
 I 
 
 A gallant ship was she 
 
 Which bore the good Queen's name; 
 One braver there could not be 
 
 That rode the roaring main. 
 
 2 
 
 The sun that fatal day 
 
 Climbed half the sky's blue steep; 
 On the bosom of the bay 
 
 The wind had gone to sleep. 
 
 3 
 
 Leviathans there lay 
 
 In line for grand review; 
 From every staff astern 
 The Union Jack it flew. 
 
 4 
 
 A rip — a rush — a roar! 
 
 "The Victoria's going down" — 
 Down with the boys of blue ! — 
 
 Rammed by the Camperdown. 
 
 5 
 Into her wounded side, 
 
 Through that deep, gaping gash, 
 
 66 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 Surges the savage tide, 
 Filling that awful crash. 
 
 6 
 
 How toiled the dauntless brave, 
 With fleetest foot and hand, 
 
 To bring their shattered ship 
 On to the Syrian land! 
 
 7 
 "Too late!" arose the call— 
 
 The men are dying and dead — 
 
 "Swim for your lives, swim all,^' 
 
 The admiral's signal read. 
 
 8 
 The shouts of the drowning men 
 
 Are stilled by the angry wave; 
 From the waters again and again 
 
 Arose the call of the brave. 
 
 9 
 The bodies, battered and bare. 
 
 Are swallowed up by the flood; 
 
 And torn limbs mangled there. 
 
 Float on in a sea of blood. 
 
 10. 
 
 Till death I'll remember the rip! 
 
 The tear and the twist of steel, 
 Her quiver — and awful slip 
 
 Her plunge — and her fearful keel. 
 
 67 
 
S>toeet 3[une 
 
 II. 
 
 Sir George stands on the bridge — 
 A hero with every breath — 
 
 Stands, till duty is done, 
 Waits for the call of death. 
 
 12. 
 
 The coxswain cried, "Come ! Go ! 
 
 There is safety yet in sight;" 
 But he answered calmly, "No, 
 
 I'll sleep with my ship to-night." 
 
 13 
 And as she went rolling o'er. 
 
 Sucked down by the sea's strong swell, 
 
 He raised his hand to the shore 
 
 And waved a sad farewell. 
 
 14- 
 Into her sinking side 
 
 Sings the sea its solemn song; 
 Down goes the Victoria, 
 
 With full three hundred strong. 
 
 Down like a crash of thunder, 
 
 Down to the dark sea cave, 
 With her side torn far asunder. 
 
 She has gone with the British brave. 
 
 16 
 
 No more will the gale she meet; 
 No more on the wave will rise — 
 
 68 
 
S>toeet 3futte 
 
 She, with her crew complete, 
 In eighty fathoms lies. 
 
 17 
 Down went the Victoria, 
 
 Far off from the Syrian shore; 
 Sir George and all his noble crew, 
 
 Shall sail the seas no more. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. JOHN DARNALL 
 
 I 
 
 God knows how she loved, with all her heart, 
 As only a woman can. 
 To mother the mothers 
 And children of others, 
 Was the whole of her loving plan. 
 In the day and night 
 Never from her sight 
 Were the motherless here below. 
 She loved with a love that was stronger than 
 death. 
 And God and the angels know. 
 
 2 
 
 You may say that a woman is simply human. 
 And made of the common clay — 
 
 69 
 
©toeet June 
 
 With her roguish smiles, 
 
 Mysterious wiles, 
 And her wondrous, puzzling way. 
 
 But I tell it to you, 
 
 And you know it is true, 
 That we mortals here below 
 Without her would be but the imps of hell, 
 And God and the angels know. 
 
 3 
 Oh, she worked and loved with all her power, 
 And planned with her head and hand — 
 Hands so beautiful. 
 Loving, dutiful, 
 Moved by the woman — grand. 
 And her very heart's blood. 
 Poured out as a flood 
 To the needy here below. 
 We are poorer to-day than ever before. 
 And God and the angels know. 
 
 4 
 
 I will bless to my death the happy day 
 When I met this woman fine. 
 'Twas her loving deed. 
 Not musty creed. 
 That made her human — divine. 
 And lifted her eyes. 
 To her hope in the skies. 
 From the vain things here below. 
 I have greater faith in the good since she came. 
 And God and the angels know. 
 
 70 
 
Stoeet 3[une 
 
 5 
 Oh, love made the scars I have seen on her 
 hands, 
 And the tears that marked her face; 
 But the love-made scar. 
 Was beautiful far, 
 Than all of her womanly grace. 
 And day after day. 
 Her heart wore away. 
 For the motherless here below. 
 Oh, a love both tender and strong was hers! 
 And God and the angels know. 
 
 6 
 
 And many a time I have heard her croon, 
 In the softest undertone, 
 
 A nursery song, 
 
 Both sweet and long. 
 To the children not her own. 
 
 How she loved them still! 
 
 To her dear heart's fill. 
 Besides others here below. 
 What love of a mother for more than her own! 
 Only God and the angels know. 
 
 7 
 Now she's gone away to the Always Day, 
 Where the mothers have no care; 
 Yet I wonder why 
 God let her die. 
 For such mothers are hard to spare. 
 And I think she hears, 
 
 71 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 'Yond this vale of tears, 
 The children's call below. 
 Oh, the mother of mothers has gone away! 
 And God and the angels know. 
 
 Flemingsburg, Kentucky. 
 
 DYING SUMMER 
 
 I. 
 
 The summer is dying, what poet is glad? 
 The leaves are reddening, and I am sad. 
 A memory sweet will the song be again — 
 The song of the thrush in the after-rain. 
 
 2 
 
 The summer is passing, ah, soon, too soon 
 Will the brooklet and bird give up their tune. 
 And the hill-tops rest in a veil of haze. 
 With the lengthening nights and the short'ning 
 days. 
 
 3 
 The roads are dusty, and the fields are brown, 
 In the cool, clear night, comes the hoar frost 
 
 down. 
 With the short'ning day, and the lengthening 
 
 night. 
 Falls the earth asleep 'neath the flakes of white. 
 
 72 
 
@)toeet June 
 
 4 
 
 The summer is dying, what poet is glad? 
 The leaves are falling and I am sad. 
 A memory sweet, will the song be again — 
 The song of the bees, and the warm June rain. 
 
 SCOTCH DIALECT VERSE 
 
 MY FAITHER 
 
 I 
 
 My faither's gettin' auld and gray; 
 
 His hair is white, like driven snaw; 
 And mony a wrinkle marks his broo; 
 
 His teeth are maist awa! 
 
 2 
 
 He disna laugh sae herty noo, 
 For he is frail and wearin' din. 
 
 His cheeks are no sae fu' some noo, 
 For they have sunken in. 
 
 3 
 How lank and feeble is his han', 
 
 That once wrought verra hard for me; 
 
 When naething I cud dae mysel' 
 
 He did it aye for me. 
 
 73 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 4 
 
 And in his laugh, there is a crack, 
 His een are gettin' sair and blin'. 
 
 His locks that once were curly black 
 Are lookin' gray and thin. 
 
 The simmer roses, jan by yin, 
 
 Upon the earth's warm bosom fa'; 
 
 But he is yin, that's far abin, 
 The fairest o' them a'. 
 
 6 
 
 Long has he tottered down the hill, 
 A man wha wis the peer o' a'; 
 
 His life is living wi' we still 
 Though he is far awa'. 
 
 MY NANNIE O! 
 
 I 
 
 When the sun nods in the gowden west, 
 
 And the gloamin' dew begins tae fa'; 
 When Nature's voices are at rest, 
 
 And flowers wi' sleep their heids let fa'; 
 When a' the kye are in their hame. 
 
 And the birds are courin', chirpin' sma'; 
 Wi* a lichtsome hert a' in a flame, 
 
 I gang and see my Nannie O. 
 
 74 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 I gang and see my Nannie O, 
 My bonnie ain dear Nannie O ; 
 My plaidie tak, and oot I go, 
 Tae see my ain kind Nannie O. 
 
 2 
 
 Down through the fairy-haunted glen, 
 
 Across the wrimpHn' burnie O* ; 
 Up mony a stile, owre mony a fen*, 
 
 I wander on tae Nannie O ; 
 And tae myseF I croon a song, 
 
 And aye auld love's sang cheerie O; 
 Nae nicht's too dark, nor mile's too lang. 
 
 That taks me tae my dearie, O. 
 
 My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
 Wha widna' love my Nannie O? 
 A face sae sweet, a hert sae pure, 
 The pride o' woman is Nannie O. 
 
 3 
 Down by fair Girvan water's side. 
 
 Oft mony a day I've daundered, O; 
 'Twas there I met and won my bride^ 
 Breathed words o' love sae tender O* 
 Oh! I'll remember till I dee 
 
 Her smile sae sweet and kindly, O; 
 And the lowe o' love, that lit her ee, 
 When I said, "Ye are my Nannie O." 
 My Nannie O, my Nannie O; 
 A world o' love has Nannie O. 
 
 75 
 
%toeet 3fune 
 
 I get a glint o' licht divine 
 When I see the ee o' Nannie O. 
 
 4 
 O, weel-a-day, and come what may, 
 
 I'll love nae ane but Nannie O; 
 Not troubles wear, nor a worl's gear 
 
 Mak' cauld my love for Nannie O. 
 Though fortune's style, and woman's smile 
 
 May wear a while, and please me, O, 
 A faithfu' hert ootwears them a', 
 
 And that's the hert o' Nannie O ! 
 
 My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
 A world o' love has Nannie O! 
 That hert's nae muckle worth the wear 
 That couldna' love my Nannie O. 
 
 5 
 The king may love his royal queen. 
 And belted knight his leddy, O! 
 The country swain his comely Jean — 
 
 Wi' smiles for her be ready, O. 
 But there is ane, and she is fair, 
 
 A joy tae me forever O ; 
 Life wid be dreigh, the hert be puir 
 If it were na' for my Nannie O. 
 
 My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
 'Tis heaven on earth wi' Nannie O ; 
 Let ithers woo and win their ain, 
 To me there's just ae Nannie O. 
 
 76 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 6 
 
 Oh! Thou, the Holy, Good and Great, 
 
 Wha' paired a' things in nature O, 
 Gied ilka bird his feathered mate, 
 
 And sent tae me my Nannie O: 
 I thank thee for the angel-love — 
 
 Heaven-born for this poor manic O; 
 iThat winged tae earth tae bless my life 
 
 In the person o' my Nannie O. 
 
 My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
 Nae ither ane but Nannie O; 
 Nae mair my hert, I ca' my ain — 
 It a' belongs tae Nannie O! 
 
 SOMEBODY'S BAIRN 
 
 I 
 
 "Matches, matches," hear the wee laddie cry; 
 ^'Wha'll hae my matches, a penny will buy," 
 Crying a' day, his bit bare bread tae earn. 
 Oh, think, man, he's human; he's somebody's 
 bairn. 
 
 Hungry and ragged, bare-fitted and sma'. 
 He daunders a' day in the sleet and the snaw. 
 And the win' whustles thro' his wee body ill 
 
 farein'. 
 Oh, man, he is sufferin; he's somebody's bairn. 
 
 11 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 3 
 
 Somebody's bairn — oh, what is his name? 
 
 Faitherless, mitherless, without ony hame; 
 Rinnin' the streets on a unlawfu' erran', 
 He's nae aye tae blame, he wis somebody's 
 bairn. 
 
 4 
 Somebody's bairn, the flowing bowl drains, 
 That murders the body, and muddles the brains ; 
 Oot in the gutter, baith cursin' and swearin', 
 Aye! pass him like dirt, but he's somebody's 
 bairn. 
 
 5 
 Somebody's bairn stands there in the room, 
 
 While the judge on the bench tells the day o' 
 
 his doom. 
 
 Up on the gallows wi' death at him starin', 
 
 Swings off tae his Maker dis somebody's bairn. 
 
 6 
 O, ye, whom the kind god o' fortune hae blest, 
 Wha' follow sweet pleasure, in selfishness rest. 
 And ye wha fur guidness are always declarin'. 
 Gang doon on yer knees, and lift somebody's 
 bairn. 
 
 7 
 God still is oor faither, and man is oor brither, 
 
 Oor purpose in life's tae baud up ane anither. 
 
 78 
 
%\x)ttt 3futte 
 
 The fauts o' oor neebors wi' patience forbearin', 
 And licht'ning the burden o' somebody's bairn. 
 
 8 
 
 The world disna mind verra much what you say. 
 It's the wark ye hae din, it's the things that ye 
 
 dae. 
 And the thorn in the body that maks us de- 
 
 spairin', 
 Is the duty discarded tae somebody's bairn. 
 
 9 
 
 Yer duty awaits ye, then up and tak heed ; 
 
 Save yer tears for the leevin'; don't wait till 
 
 they're deid. 
 That mortal on earth is for heaven preparin'. 
 Whose airms are enfaulded 'roun somebody's 
 
 bairn. 
 
 10 
 
 Somebody's bairn is sufferin' just noo; 
 
 Somebody's bairn's een wat wi saut dew. 
 
 Gie a rest tae yer tongue, let yer hert gie a 
 
 sharin' ; 
 O' love, that's sae needfu' tae somebody's bairn. 
 
 II 
 
 If a cup o' cauld water, tae mortals ye gie; 
 The Maister has said, '*Ye have din it tae me." 
 For brithers remember the truth I'm declarin': 
 Yer duty will aye be, tae somebody's bairn. 
 
 79 
 
%\x^m 3[une 
 
 HYPOCRISY 
 
 I 
 
 If we could see folks' herts as well 
 As hear the words they glibly tell 
 
 In ways sae dottin', 
 Och saints in morals wid be poor, 
 And mony a life we thocht sae pure 
 
 Wid a' be rotten. 
 
 2 
 
 O circe the day we dinna ken, 
 Jist wha' is our foe or fren'. 
 
 For tongues sae civil 
 Drop honey frae their nebs sae red. 
 And flattery is nursed and fed 
 
 By man and devil. 
 
 3 
 
 Of our first daddy preachers tell 
 
 By disobedience that he fell 
 
 Tae Satan's grapple. 
 
 Aye! fine we ken it, more and more — • 
 
 Hypocrisy's the bitter core 
 O' Adam's apple. 
 
 , 4 
 
 Gang! insincerity awa', 
 
 Gie me a man that I can ca' 
 
 8o 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 A f reen sae true ; 
 Who'll shun me not, though I am poor, 
 But stay wi' me in shine and slioor 
 
 And see me thro'. 
 
 5 
 O fellow-mortal, when ye gang 
 And travel a' life's ways along, 
 
 Find if ye can 
 A soul as true as steel, who'll prove, 
 Fur he's the ane I want tae love — 
 
 An honest man. 
 
 6 
 
 O life is bitter, sometimes sweet, 
 Baith vice and virtue in us meet — 
 
 The worst and best. 
 Twa sparks within our breasties dwell; 
 The spark o' heaven, the spark o' hell, 
 
 Maks damned or blest. 
 
 7 
 Sae fare ye weel, the big and sma', 
 
 The rich and poor, the coorse and braw — 
 
 Sober and fou! 
 Whether ye gang tae heaven or hell, 
 Dinna pit on, be jist yer sel' 
 
 A' thro' and thro'. 
 
 8i 
 
Stoeet 31une 
 
 OTHER DIALECT VERSES 
 
 MEANNESS 
 
 I 
 
 There's sin in every one of us, we're dying 
 every breath. 
 
 And Satan is our master, and his pay — eternal 
 death. 
 
 As long as sin is hidden, we will laugh aloud 
 and shout, 
 
 But a man feels sort o' sheepish, when his mean- 
 ness finds him out. 
 
 2 
 
 There's a friendship you can cultivate, but poor 
 
 it is as such ; 
 If you shut your mouth ter meanness, and don't 
 
 try ter know too much. 
 But when upon the conscience, you apply the 
 
 moral knout, 
 Then man will turn and cuss you, 'cause his 
 
 meanness found him out. 
 
 3 
 
 If you want ter be some popular, then jest go 
 
 a little slow ; 
 And never know the meanness, that men don't 
 want you ter know. 
 82 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 For sech is human nature, that it dearly loves 
 
 to spout 
 Its moral cant to others, when its meanness 
 
 ain't found out. 
 
 4 
 It may do to think a plenty, but it doesn't do 
 
 ter see 
 The bones within the closet, that are under 
 
 lock and key. 
 For if man knows you see them, then he'll run 
 
 and hide about, 
 For a feller is a coward, when his meanness 
 
 finds him out. 
 
 5 
 
 Man's a fool to blame the people, while smart- 
 ing 'neath their rod; 
 
 It's the stinging of his conscience, it's the smit- 
 ing of his God, 
 
 And he's never free from suffering from the 
 pain of moral gout. 
 
 Oh, how he twists and wiggles, when his mean- 
 ness finds him out! 
 
 6 
 The truth, however spoken, not every one does 
 
 suit; 
 You are sure to hear the snarl, when it strikes 
 
 the savage brute 
 That lurks within the carcass of the masculine 
 
 so stout. 
 
 83 
 
S>toeet 3fimc 
 
 How the fur and claws go flying, when the tiger 
 is found out! 
 
 7 
 So he gets a Httle nervous, when the jury's on 
 
 the ground, 
 His appetite is not so good, his sleep is not so 
 
 sound. 
 So he takes a short vacation, and stops with 
 
 friends en route. 
 He's inclined to do some travelling, when his 
 
 meanness finds him out. 
 
 8 
 
 He has nought against the preacher, he has 
 nought against the state, 
 
 But I think his guilty conscience has been bat- 
 tering him of late. 
 
 And if, my friends, about this truth you're in 
 anywise in doubt, 
 
 Just go and ask the fellow, when his meanness 
 finds him out. 
 
 9 
 
 But say, my friend, if I stopped here, my gospel 
 
 would be cold, 
 My moral would be blunted, and my message 
 
 barely told. 
 There is a power to cleanse the soul, all white, 
 
 within, without ; 
 And mercy waits the fellow, though his sin has 
 
 found him out. 
 
 84 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 CHRISTMAS IS NOT CHRISTMAS 
 WHEN THE CHILDREN ARE AWAY 
 
 I 
 
 Oh, Sallie, woman, what's the use of fixin' up 
 this time, 
 
 You surely ain't a-going to prepare for such a 
 dine? 
 
 I tell you things look queer around and mighty 
 quiet to-day, 
 
 For Christmas is not Christmas when the chil- 
 dren are away. 
 
 2 
 
 Let's quit all this arrangin', if it's only for us 
 
 two; 
 We can have a wash-day dinner, just anything 
 
 will do. 
 So put away your dainties for a feast some 
 
 other day — 
 It ain't no kind of eating, when the children 
 
 are away. 
 
 3 
 They are a heap of trouble, yet without them we 
 
 feel lost, 
 
 When they pick up and leave us, is the time 
 
 we need them most. 
 
 85 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 I have come to the conclusion that this loneH- 
 
 ness don't pay, 
 It's as quiet as a graveyard, when the children 
 
 are away. 
 
 4 
 About this time I'm nervous, I can hardly 
 
 stand or sit; 
 And all your finest cooking, wife, don't taste to 
 
 me a bit. 
 Let's postpone the whole occasion, O, Sal, what 
 
 do you say? 
 To me it ain't no Christmas, when the children 
 
 are away. 
 
 5 
 Big Jim I wish a boy again, so I could kiss his 
 
 toes. 
 And Ann I wish that she were still in her long 
 
 baby-clothes. 
 iThose were the times when I was young, and 
 
 when my heart was gay, 
 
 Christmas with the babies, then, don't seem 
 
 so far away. 
 
 6 
 
 1 love them even better than I ever did before; 
 As I get a Httle older, yes, I know I love them 
 
 more. 
 Yet, I have a kind of feeling, that from my 
 
 heart they stray — 
 iThis loneliness is wearying, when the children 
 
 are away. 
 
 86 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 7 
 It may sound a little selfish, but it comes straight 
 
 from the heart, 
 I often wish that Jim and Ann would from me 
 
 ne'er depart. 
 I would gladly treat with Providence, a goodly 
 
 sum to pay. 
 To fill this aching heart-void, when the children 
 
 are away. 
 
 8 
 Perhaps I'm getting childish, that's why I wish 
 
 them here; 
 As we grow old and feeble, we just want our 
 
 children near. 
 For they can make us young again, when we 
 
 are getting gray. 
 
 the weary, weary Christmas, when the chil- 
 
 dren are away. 
 
 9 
 
 1 have often lost my temper, when I've heard 
 
 them romp around, 
 And they don't forget the whippings, that I 
 
 gave them, good and sound. 
 But I would wish them home again, for an 
 
 eternal stay, 
 I ain't myself at Christmas, when the children 
 are away. 
 
 lO 
 
 Yet for one thing I am thankful, though de- 
 parted from my sight, 
 
 87 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 They are doing their full duty — they are living 
 
 for the right. 
 But 'twould cheer my heart to see them, just 
 
 even for a day — 
 It's the poorest kind of Christmas, when the 
 
 children are away. 
 
 II 
 
 So put away the turkey, Sal, and don't make any 
 cake; 
 
 And let us quit this fixin' up, just for the chil- 
 dren's sake. 
 
 When Jim and Ann come home again, we'll 
 have a feast that day — 
 
 It ain't no kind of Christmas, when the children 
 are away. 
 
 THE OLD MAN 
 
 I 
 
 O some folks say I'm looking old, and rather 
 
 out of date, 
 That my walk is not so nimble, and my form 
 
 is not so straight. 
 But they forget my heart grows young with 
 
 the years as they roll by, 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
 
 keeping young and spry. 
 
 2 
 
 For 'tis a truth that mortal man's no older than 
 he feels. 
 
 88 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 The wrinkled brow, the hoary head, no longer 
 
 age reveals. 
 My laugh rings clear, without a crack, my 
 
 heart's-well ain't run dry — 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, 
 
 I'm keeping fresh and spry. 
 
 3 
 Some with the years are growing old, and some 
 
 get young again, 
 And some are old though young in years, some 
 
 still are boys tho' men. 
 Still in me burns the flame of youth, as time 
 
 goes on the fly 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
 
 still a boy and spry. 
 
 4 _ 
 
 I'm more in love than when I felt the first of 
 
 passion's flame; 
 I still can take her hand in mine, and whisper 
 
 her dear name. 
 The love-light still is shining clear, and sparkles 
 
 from my eye. 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, 
 
 I'm courting yet and spry. 
 
 5 
 O life is not a span of years — it's naught to 
 
 eat and sleep. 
 It's cruel care, not passing time, that cuts the 
 wrinkles deep. 
 
 89 
 
%tom 3[une 
 
 In disappointment's bitter cup, our carking sor- 
 rows lie — 
 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
 keeping sweet and spry. 
 
 6 
 It's not to go the ceasless grind, the mill of 
 
 habit tread, 
 It's not to weep o'er dark defeat, and wish that 
 
 we were dead. 
 It is to bravely do and dare, to rise again and 
 
 try. 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
 
 climbing yet and spry. 
 
 7 . 
 It's not the gold for which we slave to raise 
 
 our social grade, 
 It's not to turn our every thought to implements 
 
 of trade. 
 It's not without, it is within, where the best of 
 
 treasures lie. 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
 
 getting rich and spry. 
 
 8 
 
 Give me the smile that tunes in me, my soul- 
 chords every part, 
 
 Give me the tear that moistens all the dry 
 wastes in my heart. 
 
 The song and prayer that lift me up, and bring 
 the angels nigh — 
 
 90 
 
^toeet gfune 
 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
 winging yet and spry. 
 
 9 
 
 And this, I pray, that come what may, you'll 
 some day reach the goal; 
 
 But this I hope, you'll reach it not, by crush- 
 ing down some soul, 
 
 For when your honor once is sold, it back you 
 cannot buy — 
 
 Though I have reached three score and ten, un- 
 sold I am, and spry. 
 
 10 
 
 It's only here and there you'll find in the crowd 
 that passes by 
 
 A soul that lives and breathes above the fleet- 
 ing things that die. 
 
 And with unfalt'ring faith he grips the truths 
 that always last, 
 
 Begins anew his life to live, though seventy 
 years are past. 
 
 II 
 
 Would you keep young and tender, wear a smile 
 
 for every day? 
 Then love much, pray much, hope much for the 
 
 fellow on the way. 
 And keep on courting Nature, and watch her 
 
 forms unfold — 
 It's lack of love for men and things, that makes 
 
 us sad and old. 
 
 91 
 
S^toeet 3fune 
 
 AN IMPORTANT QUESTION 
 
 I 
 
 When a feller fur a gal has got love's fever 
 good and strong, 
 
 He never dreams about the church to which 
 she may belong. 
 
 So I've just a-been a-questioning myself along 
 these lines, 
 
 I wonder if Dan Cupid to religion much in- 
 clines ? 
 
 2 
 
 Folks talk about their property, their family tree 
 
 and rank; 
 But they never talk o' sprinklin' or immersion 
 
 in a tank. 
 With this new-fangled courtin', the church 
 
 ain't in the shine, 
 For Dan Cupid to religion does not very much 
 
 incline. 
 
 3 
 Jest muster up yer courage then, afore yer cour- 
 
 tin's thro', 
 And settle this church question right, a-tween 
 
 yer gal and you. 
 For the subject of religion is important to my 
 
 min', 
 
 92 
 
^toeet 3[une 
 
 Even if your dear Dan Cupid does not piously 
 incline. 
 
 4 
 
 I'm going to tell you something, you may think 
 
 I am a fool, 
 (There's a heap o' family trouble made 'bout that 
 
 air Bible pool — 
 The breeder of discord at home, in one case 
 
 out of nine, 
 All because that dear Dan Cupid does not 
 
 piously incline. 
 
 5 . 
 
 And when the baby's sprinkled, then your wor- 
 ries will begin ; 
 
 Your wife gets simply furious, for she says it 
 is a sin 
 
 To the so-called pagan custom, she will never 
 be resigned. 
 
 All because that dear Dan Cupid was not piously 
 inclined. 
 
 6 
 
 For don't you think, my critic friend, it looks 
 a little queer. 
 
 To see your wife a-cherching there, and you 
 a-cherching here? 
 
 The family peace and comfort, to oblivion con- 
 signed. 
 
 All because that dear Dan Cupid was not piously 
 inclined. 
 
 93 
 
@)toeet 3fune 
 
 7 
 There will never come a time, I guess, when 
 
 folks will cease to mate, 
 But I'm thinking that the family's pews a-gettin* 
 
 out o' date. 
 There exists a mongrel church breed, that a 
 
 sage could not define, 
 All because that dear Dan Cupid does not piously 
 
 incline. 
 
 8 
 
 So I say to you young fellers, when about to 
 
 fix yer plan. 
 Court a gal of yer persuasion, win her, wed her, 
 
 if you can. 
 If you marry a cherch farriner, endless trouble 
 
 you will find. 
 Fur I tell you dear Dan Cupid is not piously 
 
 inclined. 
 
 BLUE-POINTS 
 Sweeten your vinegar. 
 
 Tune your giggling string. 
 
 Never let pickle get into you; and don't get 
 into a pickle. 
 
 94 
 
§)toeet 3fune 
 
 Vinegar "on menu" is all right; "in men" it 
 is a nuisance. 
 
 Give your tongue the "rest cure" now and 
 then. 
 
 Put a sticking plaster over your mouth; and 
 you will never have to put one over your heart. 
 
 Walk on the sunny side of the street. 
 
 Don't go "porcupining ;" keep your bristles 
 down. 
 
 Keep cool when it is hot; there is enough of 
 fire on earth lit by the "matches" made in 
 heaven. 
 
 Never argue with your wife when the mer- 
 cury is ninety in the shade ; and above all things 
 be sure and don't kick the cat. 
 
 When the baby has the colic, keep sweet. 
 
 When you fall, keep your nerves; and draw 
 music out of them with the bow of your smile, 
 
 95 
 
S>toeet 3futte 
 
 A tear rarely ever travels farther than your 
 face ; but your smile vi^ill travel the world 
 around. 
 
 Be a bee ; and always remember your capacity 
 to make honey, but try to forget you have a 
 sting. 
 
 The man whose face is wreathed in golden 
 giggles, never looks at the world through blue 
 goggles. 
 
 The hand-shake will bring dividends to the 
 bank of happiness ; the collar-shake, never. 
 
 Keep your head cool and your feet warm. 
 
 Take a dose of the tincture of "Lose your 
 heart on somebody" three times a day between 
 meals ; smile well before using, and when you 
 die you will be ready for heaven. 
 
 Keep your eye on the sign, "Danger ahead;' 
 look out for your spleen. 
 
 Follow the bee, but never the buzzard. 
 
 96 
 
©toeet 3futte 
 
 When you get hot under the collar, go and 
 take a shower bath. 
 
 Never fall in love — walk in; and be sure and 
 leave a way open, if retreat is necessary. 
 
 Sing your moods away, as the sun smiles 
 away the morning fog. 
 
 Don't build your bridges out of "dream 
 smoke." 
 
 Plant a grin in place of a grunt, a smile in 
 place of a sneer, in the garden of your heart; 
 and if your enemy breaks through your fences, 
 subdue him if you can by bombarding him with 
 thornless roses. 
 
 There has been a "War of The Roses," but 
 there has never been a war among the roses. 
 
 Die smiling. 
 
 97 
 
§)toeet 3!une 
 
 THE BLUES 
 
 I 
 
 When a feller's gettin' sort o' down, and worn 
 
 low at the heels, 
 And a feelin' that he haint a friend, around him 
 kind o' steals. 
 O ! brother, I'm a hopin' my advice ye won't 
 
 refuse. 
 When I tell ye that a song and smile can 
 drive away the blues. 
 
 2 
 
 It isn't what a feller has, it's what he is within 
 That makes this earth a paradise, and man a 
 walkin' grin ; 
 For life is either foul or fair — we can make 
 
 it what we choose ; 
 Come, tickle up your smile, ol' man, and 
 charm away the blues. 
 
 . . 3 
 
 Fm a wonderin' if them croakers, who at Provi- 
 dence complain, 
 Could improve the looks of nature, in her fine 
 and fair domain. 
 O ! could they make the rose so sweet, and 
 
 wash its breast with dews? 
 I'm a thinking that them fellers need some 
 doctoring fur the blues. 
 
 98 
 
^tocet 3fune 
 
 4 . 
 O ! let them paint the rainbow fair, that spans 
 
 the smiHnp^ sky ; 
 And sing the stream's sweet lullaby, as it is 
 crooning" nigh. 
 And could they pile these mountains grand, 
 
 that with the heavens muse? 
 Pshaw ! them fellers need a song and smile 
 to drive away the blues. 
 
 5 
 And women — God's fair creatures, who are a 
 
 living here — 
 Eve's wingless daughters — that are so mysteri- 
 ously dear. 
 Angel-woman from a "spare-rib," let them 
 
 make one if they choose? 
 By gum ! I think them fellers need a "spare- 
 rib" fur the blues. 
 
 6 
 Don't you know, my chronic croaker, that folks 
 
 and everything 
 Were placed in this 'ere circle to smile, to love 
 and sing? 
 God in the pathway of our life, more joys 
 
 than sorrows strews : 
 What bizness has a feller goin' huntin' fur 
 the blues? 
 
 99 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 7 
 Fur if yer seekin' trouble, shucks! you'll find it 
 
 right er long ; 
 Yer jest a fool to chant a dirge, when ye can 
 sing a song. 
 Get out and bathe in sunshine, and you will 
 
 surely lose 
 The sorrow that embitters, and that makes 
 the bluest blues. 
 
 8 
 Yes, the shadows are a plenty, but the sunlight's 
 
 falling near; 
 There's a sweet fur every bitter, there's a smile 
 fur every tear. 
 Pour out your own heart's 'intment, and 
 
 some poor soul infuse 
 With the fragrance that is sartain fur the 
 curing o' the blues. 
 
 9 
 
 Dry up yer tears, my brother, there is some- 
 thing you can do ; 
 Lift up the winder of yer heart, and let the sun- 
 shine thro'. 
 There are plenty folks aroun' ye, to com- 
 fort and enthuse — 
 There haint no use o' anyone a dying with 
 the blues. 
 
 100 
 
Stoeet 3[une 
 
 lO 
 
 And ye who are a rolling rich, in houses and in 
 
 lands, 
 Who kind o* feel that time is jest a hangin* on 
 yer hands. 
 Sail down the widder's Cabbage Patch, on 
 
 love's delightful cruise, 
 And help the little Wiggses there to drive 
 away the blues. 
 
 II 
 It's not so much yer money that we mortals 
 
 crave a share ; 
 Yer sympathy is what our hearts are now a 
 hung'ring fur. 
 There's no excuse fur rich or poor a living 
 
 in the "stews" 
 When smiles and chuckles flit around to 
 drive away the blues. 
 
 12 
 
 There's a flower that God has planted in the 
 
 garden of each heart — 
 The flower of love — from heaven; untouched, 
 unsoiled by art ; 
 And it somehow smells the sweetest when 
 
 marked by sorrow's bruise. 
 Its fragrance is the surest cure fur every 
 kind o' blues. 
 
 lOI 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 GIT THARE 
 
 I 
 
 Buckle down and go to work 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Up ol' sluggard, loose yer shirk 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Shining dollars never cum 
 To the chap that wants ter bum 
 Up ! and stir, and make things hum 
 
 Git Thare! 
 
 2 
 
 Quit yer talkin' ; Stop yer blowin' 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Keep yer feet, and fingers goin' 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Can't git "thinks" without brain-soakin' 
 Can't fill bin and pantry — smokin' 
 Can't pay taxes by yer croakin' 
 
 Git Thare! 
 
 3 
 Sun is up and time fer havin' 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Roll yer sleeves, and quit yer prayin' 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Be a busy while it's sunny 
 Lazy bees nar makin' honey 
 Can't git bread without ar money 
 
 Git Thare! 
 
 102 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 4 
 Though the day be foul and fair 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Tortoise once did beat er hare 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Bear it out in cold or heat 
 Hoi' yer nerve and still ''keep sweet" 
 Don't give up, and say "I'm beat" 
 
 Git Thare! 
 
 5 
 Many riches all er round 
 
 Git Thare! 
 Gold and silver in er ground 
 
 Git Thare! 
 See ye do yer diggin' v^^ell 
 Faithful pluggin' soon will tell. 
 Cum ! git out o' that ar shell 
 
 Git Thare! 
 
 FEELING FINE 
 
 I 
 I'm jest a feelin' fine; 
 
 Aint you? 
 Feelin' that way all a time. 
 
 Aint you? 
 Tryin' to keep out er muddle; 
 Helpin' others out o' trouble; 
 Plantin' wheat among er stubble. 
 
 Aint you? 
 103 
 
@)toeet 31une 
 
 2 
 
 I'm jest a feelin' fine; 
 
 Aint you? 
 Walkin' in the sunny-shine. 
 
 Aint you? 
 Don't pay to go a "dumping;" 
 Into folkses' business bumping; 
 And yer fellows' faults a thumping. 
 
 'Twont do ! 
 
 3 
 I'm jest a feelin' fine; 
 
 Aint you? 
 Makin' folkses' sorrows mine. 
 
 Aint you? 
 Keepin' sweet with passing years; 
 Keep a dryin' some one's tears; 
 Plantin' smiles in place o' sneers. 
 
 Aint you? 
 
 4 
 
 I'm jest a feelin' fine; 
 
 Aint you? 
 Smiles are alius in my line; 
 
 Fur you? 
 Keep fur years, and don't git stale; 
 Hearts to win, they never fail ; 
 Give 'em free — they haint fur sale. 
 
 Do you? 
 
 5 
 I'm jest a feelin' fine; 
 
 Aint you? 
 
 104 
 
©toeet 3luine 
 
 Feelin' that way all a time. 
 
 Aint you? 
 Talkin' with the birds fur hours; 
 Hear the music in er showers; 
 Keepin' company with er flowers. 
 
 Aint you? 
 
 6 
 
 I'm jest a feelin' fine; 
 
 Aint you? 
 Feelin' that way all the time. 
 
 Aint you? 
 Got within a garden fair; 
 Blushing roses blowing there; 
 Raining violets everywhere. 
 That's why I'm feelin' fine. 
 
 Aint you? 
 
 KEEP A SMILING 
 
 I 
 
 When yer in the blues and down, 
 Keep a smiling. 
 
 Smiles don't cost more than a frown, 
 Then keep smiling. 
 
 Though it's raining hard to-day, 
 
 Clouds will lift and clear away; 
 
 Things can't alius go yer way. 
 Keep a smiling. 
 
 105 
 
S>toeet 3fune 
 
 2 
 
 Though the thorns oft prick yer feet, 
 Walk on smiHng. 
 
 When yer giant troubles meet. 
 
 Face them smiling. 
 
 Though we're all to sorrow born; 
 
 Darkness flies before the morn, 
 
 Sweetest roses have their thorn, 
 So keep smiling. 
 
 3 
 
 Crosses all we have to bear. 
 
 Meet them smiling. 
 Little crosses here and there. 
 
 Brave them smiling. 
 They were sent to make you strong, 
 Help you o'er the way along. 
 Up ! and lift them with a song ; 
 
 Bear them smiling. 
 
 4 
 If ye feel yer down and out, 
 
 Keep on smiling. 
 Hold to life and brave it out. 
 
 Hold on smiling. 
 Ne'er say "die" to any foe; 
 Give him blow for every blow. 
 And when life is ebbing low, 
 
 Die a smiling. 
 
 io6 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 A MAN 
 
 I 
 
 Say! ain't he a peach! 
 Got a heart 
 As big as an ox, 
 That goes clean down to his sox« 
 Shines out of his eyes 
 And burns in his hand. 
 My land! 
 
 He's alius at the old stand 
 Doin' fur some one : 
 Fillin' the widow's bin, 
 Feedin' the orphan; 
 Wants himself to give to his kin. 
 His heart's beat 
 Makes music sweet ; 
 And the sorrows and woe 
 Of us fellers here below 
 He keeps a lightening 
 With a merry ring 
 And hearty laughter. 
 He ain't a seekin' trouble, 
 Yet trouble's what he's after. 
 He's grand! 
 
 Fur love '*he beats the band." 
 Never more happy 
 Than when he's giving — 
 Giving he says is his living. 
 107 
 
Stoeet 3Iutte 
 
 Say! ain't he a bird! 
 
 Doin' all this without er word. 
 
 Never will blow it; 
 
 Don't want folks ter know it. 
 
 Does he do it all the while? 
 
 Well, I should smile. 
 
 He's jest fine; 
 
 I wish there were more in his line. 
 
 2 
 
 Say ! ain't he a peach ! 
 
 Got a soul as white as the arctic snow. 
 
 He's the feller you want ter know. 
 
 Got a clean mouth, too — 
 
 Alius says something sweet and true; 
 
 Never is shady ; 
 
 Can repeat what he says to any lady. 
 
 Makes no difference who's around, 
 
 You just know 
 
 It's so, 
 
 What he says. 
 
 He won't flatter 
 
 Nor will he batter 
 
 The faults of his fellers. 
 
 He's plum fair 
 
 And square. 
 
 A chance to praise he'll never miss 
 
 Though he ain't in the taffy biz. 
 
 He's jest true 
 
 All the way thro'. 
 
 By Jim ! 
 
 They ain't no rotten spots on him. 
 
 io8 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 Now what do you think 
 
 He is? 
 
 I think he's a man! 
 
 Don't vou? 
 
 By Jim! 
 
 I wish there were more like him. 
 
 SONGS 
 
 MOLLIE SINGS 
 
 I 
 .When I am feeling lonely, and somewhat sort of 
 sad, 
 And the cold winds of misfortune 'round me 
 blow, 
 There is nothing that can cheer me, or make my 
 spirit glad, 
 Than to hear my Mollie sing so soft and low. 
 Than to hear my Mollie sing so soft and low. 
 O she sings, sweetly sings, with a fine soul- 
 soothing ring — 
 My eyes begin to water, when I hear my Mollie 
 sing. 
 
 2 
 
 There is a nook within her, all aflame with Na- 
 ture's spark. 
 Her lips and eyes burn with melodious fire. 
 
 109 
 
©toeet 3[une 
 
 And the one who is her teacher, is the one who 
 taught the lark 
 To sing the sweeter as he soars the higher. 
 To sing the sweeter as he soars the higher. 
 O she sings, sweetly sings, with a gentle, wing- 
 ing ring— ' 
 My heart begins to flutter, when I hear my 
 Mollie sing. 
 
 3 
 
 You know there is a difference in expression 
 
 and in tone. 
 It's more than voice that strikes the notes so 
 true. 
 It's the soul of Mollie singing that melts my 
 
 heart of stone. 
 And in my life she turns the dark to blue. 
 And in my life she turns the dark to blue. 
 O she sings, sweetly sings, with a mirth-provok- 
 ing ring, 
 All over I am smiling when I hear my Mollie 
 sing. 
 
 4 
 
 O do you know the secret, why my Mollie sings 
 vSo well? 
 Why she sets my blood to tingling in its flow ? 
 If you could hear her singing, it would not be 
 hard to tell — 
 My Mollie's heart was broken long ago. 
 My Mollie's heart was broken long ago. 
 
 no 
 
%toeet 3Iune 
 
 she sings, sweetly sings, with a strange, pa- 
 
 thetic ring — 
 
 1 have drained the cup of sorrow, so I feel my 
 
 Mollie sing. 
 
 5 
 The mocking-birds and thrushes all bow their 
 
 heads and hush 
 And stop and listen to my Mollie's notes; 
 They can never keep on singing while they hear 
 the magic rush 
 Of harmony, as through the air it floats. 
 Of harmony, as through the air it floats. 
 O she sings, sweetly sings, with a soul-posses- 
 sing ring — 
 Dear Nature stops to listen when she hears my 
 Mollie sing. 
 
 6 
 
 While lying sick one day, her spirit flew away 
 
 And left me here all songless and alone. 
 Now Mollie's gone away to the place that's al- 
 ways day. 
 Where I know that she will ever feel at home. 
 Where I know that she will ever feel at home. 
 Now she sings, sweetly sings, with an all-im- 
 mortal ring — 
 The angels must be smiling, for they hear my 
 Mollie sing. 
 
 Ill 
 
S>toeet Sfune 
 
 ELKHORN 
 
 I 
 
 O Nature, thou art ever fair, 
 
 And ever fair thou art to me. 
 Thy radiant spirit's everywhere 
 
 On mountain height and grassy lea. 
 In sweet Kentucky love I thee ! 
 
 Where laurel blooms and blue-grass grows. 
 But thou art dearest all to me, 
 
 Where dreamingly the Elkhorn flows. 
 
 Sweet silver Elkhorn, 
 
 I hear thy music in my dreams. 
 Clear, rippling Elkhorn — 
 
 Queen of all the Blue-Grass streams. 
 
 2 
 
 All through the sunny hours in June 
 
 I listen to thy limpid strain 
 That lulls to softer, sweeter tune 
 
 The music in my heart and brain. 
 But O to dream these hours away! 
 
 And feel the magic of thy flow. 
 What more need I of charm to stay? 
 
 What more of simple joy to know ? 
 
 3 
 O Elkhorn, thou must surely know 
 
 The time when I my loved one meet, 
 
 112 
 
©toeet 3futte 
 
 For in the evening-'s soft'ning glow 
 I hear thee say, "To love is sweet." 
 
 "To love is sweet," thou'rt whisp'ring now, 
 With voice untouched, untrained by art. 
 
 Sing on, fair Elkhorn, gently thou! 
 Sing to my love-awakened heart! 
 
 4 
 O Elkhorn, fairest of the fair! 
 
 That shimmers in the sunlight's beams. 
 O Elkhorn, rarest of the rare! 
 
 With dancing ripples, curls and gleams 
 Of all the jewels I have seen 
 
 In Nature's realm, I prize thee best — 
 Thee Elkhorn — diamond-pure serene 
 
 That glitters on Kentucky's breast. 
 
 Frankfort, Kentucky. 
 
 I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE OLD 
 
 TOWN 
 
 I 
 
 I want to go back to the old town 
 Where hallowed memories grow, 
 
 To see the old place 
 
 And look in the face 
 Of one who was young long ago. 
 I want to go back to the old home, 
 
 113 
 
^toeet 3!une 
 
 Where I first felt the th robbings of life, 
 
 Where tender caress 
 
 And smothering kiss 
 Were given by mother and wife. 
 I want to go back to the old town, 
 Where I lived in the days of yore, 
 
 While nature is smiling 
 
 With beauty beguiling. 
 I want to go back once more. 
 
 2 
 
 I want to go back to the old stream. 
 Where I saw the finny tribe play 
 'Neath a shady nook 
 
 With bait on the hook 
 I have spent there many a day. 
 I want to go back to the old field 
 That lies by the edge of the wood, 
 
 Where the corn used to grow 
 
 In a soldierly row, 
 And I used to day-dream and brood. 
 I want to go back to the old town, 
 Where I lived in the days of yore, 
 
 While sunshine and showers 
 
 Are making the flowers. 
 I want to go back once more. 
 
 3 
 
 I want to go back to the old tree 
 And sit 'neath its cooling shade, 
 
 Where I first felt the flame, 
 And whispered her name, 
 
 114 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 And breathed out the love God made. 
 
 I want to go back to the old well 
 
 And drink of its water so free, 
 
 As it sings in the ground 
 With a leap and a bound 
 
 No music is sweeter to me. 
 
 I want to go back to the old town, 
 
 Where I lived in the days of yore, 
 While bird-folks assemble 
 And make the air tremble. 
 
 I want to go back once more. 
 
 4 
 
 I want to go back to the old flowers 
 
 That grow 'long the fence and the wall, 
 The white columbine, 
 The fern and the vine, 
 
 And the rose that is sweetest of all. 
 
 I want to go back to the old scenes 
 
 And live them all over again. 
 The city's a bore; 
 I'm tired of its roar — 
 
 The pale faces of women and men. 
 
 I want to go back to the old town. 
 
 Where I lived in the days of yore, 
 Where Spring is awaking 
 And blossoms are breaking, 
 
 I want to go back once more. 
 
 "5 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 JUNE 
 
 I 
 
 Fades the blush of dawn 
 In the morning light. 
 
 The sun is mirrored 
 In the dew-drop bright. 
 
 2 
 
 Wave ripples of gold 
 
 On the wind-swept wheat. 
 The thrush is singing 
 
 To her mate so sweet. 
 
 3 
 
 There's a bee in the rose 
 A-humming its tune, 
 
 While its petals are kissed 
 With the breath of June. 
 
 4 
 The air blows sweets 
 
 From the heart of flowers, 
 And the leaves sing "drip" 
 
 Thro' the showery hours. 
 
 5 
 I've buried my sorrow 
 And dried my tear, 
 
 ii6 
 
S)toeet 3fune 
 
 For heaven's on earth. 
 Since June is here. 
 
 6 
 O June's in my heart, 
 
 And I wish this hour, 
 That I were the dew, 
 
 And my love the flower. 
 
 MARCH 
 
 I 
 
 O March, the biggest braggart of the seasons 
 'neath the sun, 
 A howHng and a scowling here and there. 
 
 She wants to make all mortals think that win- 
 ter's just begun — 
 The fastest flirt in Nature, I declare. 
 
 And with her clammy fingers her half-frozen 
 kisses fling 
 
 To old winter she is fooling, while coquetting 
 with the spring. 
 
 2 
 
 She weeps a while and smiles a while, and then 
 she's on the go — 
 A creature of impulses warm and cold. 
 She throws a beam of sunshine here, and there 
 a flake of snow ; 
 O fickle March, both fancy free and bold! 
 117 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 And thro' the woods and o'er the hill, I hear her 
 
 wildly sing, 
 **I am fooling with old winter, while coquetting 
 
 with the spring." 
 
 3 
 The cold damp winds are blowing the deep 
 crinkles in her dress, 
 As it flaps around her ankles and her shin, 
 And her hair is all dishevelled, and Fm not 
 afraid to guess 
 She never had a comb in't, nor a pin. 
 But I'm sure she doesn't care, she has two beaus 
 
 to her string — 
 Old Winter she is fooling, while coquetting with 
 the Spring. 
 
 4 
 O she's fickle, false and fair, and her love is 
 never deep; 
 Her wrath is rising when she's feigning death. 
 And when you think she's nestled in the winter- 
 land to sleep, 
 She comes again and blows her icy breath. 
 So there's no use counting on her, the breezy, 
 
 blatant thing; 
 She keeps fooling with old Winter, while coquet- 
 ting with the Spring. 
 
 5 
 But she needn't try to fool me, though she 
 
 blusters long and loud, 
 Ii8 
 
S)toeet 3fune 
 
 For I hear the little robins 'round me peep. 
 Yes, the Spring will soon be coming, for its sign 
 is in the cloud; 
 And I see the baby-flowers upward creep. 
 The air is full of humming, for the bees are on 
 
 the wing, 
 While she's fooling with old Winter, and co- 
 quetting with the Spring. 
 
 6 
 
 Miss March ! You can't deceive me with all your 
 blast and blow, 
 For I see the Spring a smiling 'neath your 
 frown. 
 
 A gown of green is lying, below your dress of 
 snow; 
 And the trees are putting on their buds of 
 down. 
 
 Throughout the woods and o'er the hill the 
 laughing waters sing, 
 
 While you're fooling with old Winter, and co- 
 quetting with the Spring. 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 I 
 
 'Tis not to me the book that's precious so, 
 Nor shining truth that in its pages glow. 
 Dearer than all to me it ever stands, 
 
 119 
 
S)toeet 3Iune 
 
 Because 'twas penciled with my loved one's 
 hands. 
 
 My loved one's hands. 
 
 2 
 
 'Tis not the rose once red that I now greet — 
 With crimson lips that kissed the sunlight sweet, 
 But, oh, to me, though withered, it is fair. 
 It nestled once within my loved one's hair. 
 
 My loved one's hair. 
 
 3 
 
 'Tis not the pen with polished point of gold 
 That stirs my blood, or freshens memories old, 
 But, oh, the tears flow fast, when it I see, 
 Penned from her soul, the words of love to me. 
 
 Of love to me. 
 
 4 
 'Tis not the lane of flowers, or gentle stream. 
 That make them sacred to my young love's 
 
 dream. 
 But 'tis the thought; there love was free from 
 
 art. 
 In twilight stillness heart was lost in heart. 
 
 Was lost in heart. 
 
 5 
 'Tis not the home, though dear its every stone, 
 That makes me cling to it, though I'm alone, 
 But, oh, 'twas there, when came the evening 
 
 gray, 
 
 120 
 
^tocet glune 
 
 Whispered my love "good-bye" and passed 
 
 away. 
 
 And passed away. 
 
 KATHLEEN. 
 
 I 
 
 O Kathleen, you remember in the days of long 
 
 ago 
 The songs we often sung both sad and gay, ^ 
 By the fire-side in the winter, and the summer s 
 
 evening glow ; , . . 
 
 How we loved and dreamed the golden hours 
 
 away. ^ ,.. , 
 
 And in that cloudless noon of life, there came 
 
 no care or frown, , 
 
 To mar our virgin happiness away m County 
 
 Down. 
 
 Away in County Down 
 No girl is fairer, sweeter. 
 Than Kathleen; none discreeter. 
 And for beauty who can beat her? 
 
 Away in County Down. 
 
 2 
 
 Every spot around that country will be always 
 
 dear to me, , -. ^ ^ 4. 
 
 It was there that love mto my heart tirst 
 
 came. 
 
 121 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 Oh, the angels smiled upon us, from fair 
 
 heaven's balcony, 
 When they saw our hearts were burning 
 
 with the flame. 
 Dear nature walked in beauty, and had on her 
 
 greenest gown, 
 When Cupid pulled our heart strings away 
 
 in County Down. 
 
 Away in County Down, 
 There my heart first set aflaming, 
 I my bride was then a claiming. 
 And the wedding day was naming. 
 Away in County Down. 
 
 3 
 
 these years of joy and gladness are gone for- 
 
 ever more. 
 Like the stream whose waters ne'er return 
 again. 
 
 1 would fain be living over my youth in days 
 
 of yore, 
 And taste again its pleasure touched with 
 
 pain. 
 But my weary feet must wander this dreary 
 
 world aroun' 
 For my shattered hopes lie buried with 
 
 Kathleen in County Down. 
 
 Away in County Down 
 The winds are sobbing, sighing 
 O'er the grave where Kathleen's lying, 
 
 122 
 
^toeet 3[une 
 
 And my broken heart is crying, 
 Away in County Down. 
 
 MOLLIE MAGUIRE. 
 
 I 
 
 O Mollie Maguire 
 
 Was the sweetest colleen 
 
 That ever w^as seen 
 In the town of Coleraine. 
 
 Her eyes were sky-blue. 
 
 Of Italian hue, 
 Her tears were the softest rain. 
 
 But Mollie Maguire 
 
 Has set me on fire, 
 And left in my heart a pain. 
 
 2 
 
 O Mollie Maguire! 
 
 I'm afraid of you now. 
 
 You remember the vow 
 That you made in Coleraine, 
 
 But your promises pass 
 
 Like the sand through the glass- 
 Pass away like the wind and rain. 
 
 Och Mollie Maguire ! 
 
 To the devil would hire, 
 Could she shatter my heart again. 
 123 
 
©toeet 3fune 
 
 3 
 
 O MolHe Maguire! 
 
 I'm a loving you still, 
 
 To my sad heart's fill, 
 Far away from Coleraine. 
 
 I still think of thee — 
 
 A sweet memory — 
 The bitter and sweet of my pain. 
 
 O Mollie Maguire— 
 
 The seller and buyer 
 Of a score of hearts in Coleraine. 
 
 THE HARVEST. 
 
 I. 
 
 No wonder the cynics chuckle 
 
 When lawyers get busy and bold. 
 It's a certain sign, all along the line, 
 That the altar of love is cold. 
 
 And the one who was fair, 
 Whose beauty was rare. 
 Looks haggard and pinched and old. 
 For she sold herself for a title, 
 And he for a pot of gold. 
 
 No wonder she's looking so old! 
 
 2. 
 
 No wonder the editors print 
 The headlines of the nuptial sell 
 
 124 
 
%)x}ttt 'Sunt 
 
 Of the American Queen, the prettiest seen, 
 And the poor Lord who did well. 
 Of the silver and gold, 
 And the gifts manifold, 
 And the home that will soon be hell. 
 O the woes 'neath the velvet and ermine! 
 And the heartaches — who can tell? 
 
 No wonder the newspapers sell. 
 
 .3- 
 No wonder the Lordlings laugh 
 
 When the heiress sells out her soul 
 For a grand coronet, then pays off the debt 
 Of the Earl that's down in a hole. 
 But the Honey will soon 
 Alelt away from the Moon. 
 When her Lord the dollars will dole 
 To his pals of the Monte Carlo, 
 
 From whom he borrowed and stole. 
 
 No wonder he married for gold. 
 
 4. . 
 No wonder her lovers smile 
 
 When creditors on her descend, 
 To pay for the lace to deck out His Grace. 
 Yes, the heiress with title must spend. 
 There's an ebb and a flow 
 In all mortals, you know. 
 And the fellow that borrows must lend. 
 O the woman that barters love's jewel away 
 To the uttermost cent must atone. 
 
 No wonder her heart is a stone. 
 
 125 
 
Stoeet 3[une 
 
 5. 
 
 No wonder the preachers preach 
 
 And point out the moral thereby, 
 That we get what we give, as sure as we live, 
 
 We are paid in our coin by and by. 
 And we only get wheat 
 When conditions we meet. 
 
 In the earth, the sun and the sky, 
 If we root from our hearts the tares of wrong, 
 
 Then the wheaten truth shall lie, 
 And spring up and defy the throng. 
 
 6. 
 
 No wonder the parent's sad. 
 
 Both broken in hope, and in pride. 
 For our own flesh and blood has brought in the 
 flood, 
 And swept us away with the tide. 
 O the sin and the shame, 
 By the child of our name! 
 Are the hardest of all to abide. 
 But blood is thicker than water, you know, 
 And bone is deeper than hide. 
 
 No wonder we love in despair. 
 
 7. 
 
 O what will her morrow be? 
 
 She has sinned to her very heart's root. 
 Who has stepped from her course, to the way of 
 remorse. 
 
 And eaten sin's bitter fruit. 
 
 126 
 
S)toeet 3fune 
 
 O God in the name 
 
 Of the dear Christ who came ! 
 Have mercy upon her we pray. 
 Herself she has sold for a title and gold, 
 She has had her harvest and pay, 
 But Lord, thou art loving alway. 
 
 12? 
 
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