PS 3505 
 .093 P8 
 1897 
 Copy 1 
 
 and ©tl^er 
 
 FRANK B, COVlNllTON. 
 
 K 
 
 ,-%^/%/%/%/%^%%/%%/%/%/%/%/V^/%/%» 
 
Hn& ©tber 
 Ipocme. . 
 
 FRANK B. COVINGTON. 
 
 tf 
 
 HERBERT A SCHOENFELD, 
 Publisher. 
 
 SEATTLE, WASH. ^ \ 
 
 1897. 
 
 -^y-i 
 
 f^s.^ ' 
 
 b 
 

 
 ^17 
 
proem* 
 
 ^L OME simple songs are mine to sing; 
 v-x Some simple lines I bring to thee: 
 Thoughts that from out my soul took wing- 
 Glad to be free. 
 
 Some simple songs are mine to sing: 
 A tear drop from a weary soul; 
 Of Hope, whose diamond gems e'er bring 
 Me near His goal. 
 
 Some simple songs are mine to sing: 
 Of childhood days, of idle glee, 
 Of sins of men that scar and sting — 
 Eternally. 
 
 Some simple songs are mine to sing; 
 Some simple lines in rythmic way: 
 Thoughts that from out my soul took wing- 
 Born for a day. 
 
llnbej:. 
 
 Ambition's Way 4 
 
 A Song of the Woods 25 
 
 A Morning Reverie 27 
 
 An Ode to Earth 7 
 
 Buttercups 30 
 
 Blossoms of Love 51 
 
 Before the Dawn 41 
 
 Contentment 14 
 
 Did You Ever? 31 
 
 De Roasin' Time is Har ' 27 
 
 Down Whar De June Bugs Hum 40 
 
 Despair Not, O Soul! 43 
 
 Great Men 29 
 
 Greed 48 
 
 Have Faith in God Another Year 35 
 
 Honey-Suckles 39 
 
 Idle Hours 20 
 
 I'm Goin' Back to the Farm 20 
 
 I'm Comin' Ma, I'm Comin' 11 
 
 June 11 
 
 Julie Ann, Artist 36 
 
 Knowledge 13 
 
 Lawd Hoi' Dis Nigge's Han' 18 
 
 Life for a Look 6 
 
 Morning-Glories 19 
 
 Mammie's Lullaby 5 
 
 Night 15 
 
 Opportunity 43 
 
Playing Hookey 24 
 
 Pride's Redemption 42 
 
 Punkin Eater 1 
 
 Sambo's Soliloquy 52 
 
 Science at Home 41 
 
 Slick Up 8 
 
 The Owl's A-who-a-who 49 
 
 The Rheumatic Chicken 50 
 
 The Minds of Men 17 
 
 The Tramp's Awakening 22 
 
 To the Wind 38 
 
 Two Graves Ifi 
 
 The Grhosts of Might-Have-Beens 47 
 
 To Benna Bennington 44 
 
 The Sea of Love 15 
 
 The Old Man a-Dreaming 9 
 
 True Wealth 10 
 
 To the Pessimists 34 
 
 The Sky Dragon 4 
 
 Ter Make er Darkie White 33 
 
 The Wail of the Trees 7 
 
 Twilight 32 
 
 The Swamp Angel 30 
 
 The Little Reaper 28 
 
 Two Drivers 26 
 
 Wild Flowers 23 
 
 When de Milk is Friz 45 
 
 What is — to Die? 48 
 
IpunRin jeater< 
 
 I. 
 
 US' TER like the punkin 
 When 't was steamin' in the 
 
 pot, 
 An' I don' know, but I reckon 
 That is jest 'bout how I got 
 My name, jest plain 
 Punkin Eater." 
 
 When they called me in th' 
 mornin' 
 
 For to make the breakfas' fire, 
 An' milk the cows an' cut the wood, 
 'T would bring up all the ire — 
 That "Git up, Punkin Eater!" 
 
 O 't was Punkin Eater here 
 An' 't was Punkin Eater there, 
 An' it almos' drove me wild. 
 An' it mdae me pull my hair — 
 That ''Git up, Punkin Eater!" 
 
 1 
 
II. 
 
 When breakfas' chores were over, 
 They would send me off to school, 
 An' I 'd meet my school-boy Men's, 
 An' they 'd make me feel a fool 
 With then- "Hello, Punkin Eater! 
 
 When on the baseball groun' 
 I was a-runnin' bases — 
 A tryin' to make a score — 
 I'd hear their smilin' faces 
 Sayin'— "G-it there, Punkin Eater!' 
 
 't was Punkin Eater here. 
 An' t' was Punkin Eater there. 
 An' it almos' drove me wild. 
 An' it made me pull my hair — 
 That "Git there, Punkin Eater!" 
 
 Ill, 
 
 One day I packed my things up 
 For a trip into the west — 
 
 1 sneaked out in the night time — 
 An' 'twas jest to get a rest 
 From jest plain Punkin Eater! 
 
 From Arkansaw to Washington 
 I traveled night an' day; 
 An' I was happy, I was — 
 A speedin' far away 
 From jest plain Punkin Eater! 
 
 2 
 
I had been there 'bout a week, 
 
 An' was lookin' for a job, 
 
 When I heard that name somewhere; 
 
 It was my old friend Bob 
 
 With a "Hi there, Punkin Eater!" 
 
 't was Punkin Eater here, 
 An 't was Punkin Eater there. 
 An' it almos' drove me wild. 
 An' it made me pull my hair, 
 That "Hi there, Punkin Eater!" 
 
 IV. 
 
 All nick names live forever, 
 
 An' mine will never die; 
 
 The children like to lisp it, 
 
 An' I've heard them sometimes cry, 
 
 'O howdy, Punkin Eater!" 
 
 V. 
 
 1 think I see my grave mound 
 In the City of the Dead, 
 Green grass a-growin o'er it. 
 An' there's written at the head: 
 Jest plain 
 
•T 
 
 Ambition's Way. 
 
 I. 
 
 IS strewn with bleached bones of men 
 Whose hollow, eyeless skulls do stare; 
 Goodness and Love and Hope and Sin 
 This well-worn rugged path do share. 
 
 II. 
 
 Beaten and pushed by adverse winds, 
 We hunt and plod till Time doth cease 
 It's restless strife, which ever grinds 
 Our lives away. 'T is death to Peace. 
 
 The Sky Dragon. 
 
 OH bad little children, now list to my story. 
 Of a Dragon who everywhere flies; 
 Who keeps a watch out for bad little tots. 
 Yes, and sometimes he puts out their eyes. 
 
 Oh he lives up so high, this terrible Dragon! 
 
 That to find him you'll never know where; 
 And his eyes are as big as the moon in the sky, 
 
 So you bad little children take care ! 
 
 He pounces on children, on those who tell lies; 
 
 Who are naughty and won't mind mammas; 
 And he gathers them up to his home in the skies 
 
 In his flight, with his horrible claws. 
 
Mamitiie*s Lullaby, 
 
 ESH a bye, 
 
 Sleep an' sigh, 
 
 Frizzle Top, my baby; 
 
 Shet de blin' 
 
 Ob yo' mill' — 
 
 Go ter sleep, my honey, 
 
 Hesh a bye, 
 
 Shet yo' eye. 
 
 Frizzle Top, my baby; 
 
 Go ter sleep 
 
 On de deep 
 
 Ob de boun'less Dream Sea. 
 
 Hesh a bye, 
 Don' yo' cry. 
 Frizzle Top, my baby; 
 Angels sing- 
 ing will bring 
 Gol'en visions to de. 
 
 Hesh a bye. 
 
 Sleep is nigh. 
 
 Frizzle Top, my baby; 
 
 Do you 's black. 
 
 You don' lak 
 
 Fo' de lub ob mammie. 
 
 Hesh a bye. 
 
 Sleep an' sigh. 
 
 Frizzle Top, my baby; 
 
 Dar you go, 
 
 Ofe fo' sho — 
 
 Sailin' on de Dream Sea. 
 
^^•*^p* 
 
 Life for a Look. 
 
 HERE is Life for a look at the Saviour!' 
 Sweet forgiveness, O Sinner, to thee; 
 Why will you e'er grope in the darkness. 
 When the light of his goodness is free? 
 
 "There is Life for a look at the Saviour!" 
 For a soul-pleading knock at His door; 
 Why moaneth, O Sinner, in anguish? 
 Just a look — and He saves ever more! 
 
 "There is Life for a look at the Saviour!" 
 Just a little of Faith for thy part; 
 His hands are e'er ready to take thee, 
 And to cleanse and to heal thy sick heart. 
 
 "There is Life for a look at the Saviour!" 
 There is Peace at the sound of His voice; 
 O Sinner, why will you not waken. 
 When so many around thee rejoice? 
 
 "There is Life for a look at the Saviour!" 
 There is Joy for each penitent tear; 
 O weary one, why walk in sadness. 
 When a look unto him will bring Cheer? 
 
 "There is Life for a look at the Saviour!" 
 There's a Peace that no mortal can give; 
 He will loosen the cords that are binding 
 Thy sins to thy soul — Sinner live! 
 
The Wail of the Trees. 
 
 LEAFLESS and fruitless they bend to the 
 breeze; 
 Deadened with cold and whitened 
 with snow; 
 Moanino- and groaning they shiver and freeze 
 Under the touch of the grim Winter's blow. 
 
 Naked and gruesome they sigh as they sing 
 Their sorrowful songs of Winter's distresses; 
 Praying always that Nature may bring 
 Back to their hearts Sweet Springtime's 
 caresses. 
 
 An Ode to Earth. 
 
 ^O EARTH thou art of God! 
 
 ^■^ From thy abundant sod 
 Thou givest daily bread 
 To sons of life who tread 
 Upon thy mighty face. 
 
 Thou holdest in thy hands 
 The hosts of human bands. 
 The oceans roll within 
 Thy banks, and thro' the din 
 Of storm thou holdest sway. 
 
 All things within the deeps, 
 Of planes and mountain steeps 
 Were made at His command, 
 And Thou, O Earth, doth stand, 
 To Him a monument. 
 
Slick Up! 
 
 HEN you 's feelin' 
 kinder glummie, 
 1! An yo' pocket 's minus 
 money, 
 
 Look up sonnie — 
 
 Slick up! 
 
 Put erway de holler feelin'; 
 Put erway de tho'ts ob stealin' — 
 Hon'ry dealin' — 
 Slick up! 
 
 Gib yo' shoes an extre shinin,' 
 Stop yo' ways ob fault-a-finin,' 
 Quit yo' whinin' — 
 Slick up! 
 
 Sho' dar ain' no use in pinin' — 
 Ketch a job an' go ter dinin' — 
 Mend yo' linin' — 
 Slick up! 
 
 Nigge' dar am gol' a flowin,' 
 Ebrywhar it am a glowin,' 
 Riche' growin' — 
 Slick up! 
 
 'Tis de gol' ob happy whilin,' 
 'T is de 'spression ob de smilin' — 
 Yo's fo' filin'— 
 Slick up! 
 
 8 
 
The 0!d Man a Dreaming. 
 
 THE old man 's a sitting in his old arm 
 chair, 
 And his thoughts go back to the days 
 that have fled: 
 He 's a boy again at a small country fair, 
 Once more he 's a living on the old homestead. 
 
 At school he 's a whittling on his plain pine 
 
 seat. 
 And a hiding his grins with his geography book; 
 With his girl he 's a sleighing up the town's 
 
 main street; 
 He 's a fishing for trout in old Swaggady brook. 
 
 He 's a young tramping soldier on a hot dusty 
 
 way, 
 And is hearing again the battle's death roar. 
 While 'round about dead soldiers lay — 
 'Tis only the slamming of the kitchen door, 
 And the old man a-dreaming 
 To the coffee a steaming, 
 And the water a dripping 
 In 
 The 
 Old 
 Rain 
 Barrel. 
 
 He 's back from the war and is married now 
 To the girl that he loved at his boyhood school; 
 
 9 
 
He 's a following again the old corn plow; 
 He 's a milking old Brindle on the three-legged 
 stool. 
 
 Around him again are the loved ones so dear: 
 There 's Johnnie and Mary and Martha and Ted; 
 And down his face slowly trickles a tear — 
 He remembers now that the dear ones are dead. 
 
 His head 's bending low as the sad thoughts 
 
 expel 
 The joys that he knew, that he knows no more; 
 There 's no one to comfort when he wakes from 
 
 the spell 
 That his old cane breaks as it falls to the floor — 
 The old man a dreaming 
 To the coffee a steaming, 
 And the water a dripping 
 In 
 The 
 Old 
 Rain 
 Barrel. 
 
 True Wealth. 
 
 E alone is rich 
 Who looks above; 
 Who grasps the gems which stud 
 The skies of love. 
 10 
 
 H 
 
June. 
 
 -HE June bug hums his tune of 
 r5.!i':^i'^^<f^ peace, 
 
 And the lightning bug is seen, 
 And the croaking voice of the 
 frog ponds cease. 
 And the earth is full of green. 
 
 The June bug flaps his golden wings 
 In the bright day's summer light, 
 
 And the earth is full of the peace he sings: 
 Of the June day's gladsome sight. 
 
 The June bug hums a tune of joy — 
 
 Of the June day's melody — 
 And the June time birds and the barefoot 
 boy 
 
 Are singing a song of glee. 
 
 Vm Cotnin' Ma, Ftn Comin'. 
 
 I. 
 
 HEAR them yet, the words he'd say. 
 When mandates ma to him would cry; 
 He'd never stop his happy play, 
 But answer back the quaint reply — 
 "I'm comin' ma, I'm comin'," 
 
 11 
 
II. 
 
 Forgetting then the mother there, 
 He'd run to catch the butterfly, 
 And heedless of his mother's care, 
 And of the hours a passing by, 
 He'd wander in the fields away, 
 And somewhere in the wheat he'd say — 
 "I'm comin' ma, I'm comin'." 
 
 III. 
 
 And ma would smile and do herself 
 The errands that were his to do, 
 And called her son a little elf 
 Who — bounding in when she was through 
 With life writ o'er his face so gay — 
 Would grin at her as he would say — 
 "I'm comin' ma, I'm comin'." 
 
 IV. 
 
 And mother'd scold him for neglect. 
 And whisper words of warning too: 
 That punishment he must expect 
 If better he should fail to do. 
 
 V. 
 
 The time sped on and under flowers 
 For many years the sunshine gave, 
 The mother slept the silent hours 
 Of peacef ulness within the grave. 
 
 12 
 
VI. 
 
 I bended o'er where Johnnie lay, 
 Upon a bed of death and pain; 
 And listening I heard him say, 
 As if in boyhood play again — 
 " I'm comin' ma, I'm comin'." 
 
 VII. 
 
 And so they ring within my soul, 
 These simple words of childhood days; 
 And e'er they lead me to her goal 
 To this the march my heart e'er plays 
 "I'm comin' ma, I'm comin'." 
 
 1 
 
 A 
 
 Knowledge. 
 
 MAN of knowledge is like unto a bird. 
 
 Which in its flight. 
 Sees spread out the world, and knows 
 Where-at to light. 
 13 
 
Contentment. 
 
 DE chicken soup am de white 
 
 folks' trash, 
 An so do de turtle soup be; 
 But de cow pea soup wif de 
 
 cow pea hash, 
 Am good enough fo' me. 
 
 Oh de white bread 's sof an' de white bread's 
 ha'd, 
 
 Yo' neber knows which 'twill be; 
 But de co'n pone wa'm wif plenty ob la'd. 
 
 Am good enough fo' me. 
 
 Oh de pig meat 's fat, an' de pig meat 's lean, 
 
 An' de cow meat ain' so free; 
 But de 'possum sweet, wif 'taters between, 
 
 Am good enough fo' me. 
 
 Oh de white folks lib in a house of pride, 
 
 An' dey trabel o'er de sea; 
 But a plain pine shack an' an ox cart ride. 
 
 Am good enough fo' me. 
 
 Oh de white folks am mos' pow'ful spry 
 
 In de books an' poet-ree; 
 But de good Lawd's wud an' de cl'ar blue sky. 
 
 Am good enough fo' me. 
 
 14 
 
w 
 
 The Sea of Love. 
 
 ITH goodly deeds her shores are strewn, 
 G-reat monuments to God; 
 Her deeps are mines for human needs — 
 For plodders of the sod. 
 
 No gales there are, to wreck thy craft, 
 No storm-clouds break above, 
 
 No hurricanes with fierceness waft 
 Over the Sea of Love. 
 
 Her winds are Joy; her waves are Peace 
 Her shores are named Content; 
 
 Her tides bring crafts of G-od's increase. 
 By God and angels sent. 
 
 T 
 
 Night. 
 
 HE mocking birds have ceased to sing, 
 The sons of day are on the wing; 
 
 And twilight fades before the night 
 As shadows fade before the light. 
 
 Day 's gone to sleep; the sun has fled 
 Beyond the hills — below the red; 
 
 The owls awake; the flies of night 
 Soar free again with wings of light. 
 
 The stars are glad; darkness is king, 
 The herds have ceased their wandering; 
 
 The dew is fresh upon the rose; 
 And watching over all — Repose. 
 
 15 
 
The nightingale sings songs of cheer 
 Where floats the wail of owlets drear; 
 
 Low whisperings the brook doth cease, 
 And laughingly makes love to peace. 
 
 The chickens crow; the tinkling bell 
 From silence breaks as wakes the spell: 
 
 The eastern light is on the way — 
 And silently night steals away. 
 
 Two Graves. 
 
 OUT on the wild prairies, somewhere, 
 Away from all human quest, 
 There lieth the worldly dust 
 Of two girls long gone to rest. 
 
 There is no one there to take care 
 Of their graves and keep them green, 
 
 And briers have grown o'erhead, 
 And wild and lone is the scene. 
 
 What matter, 't was only the earth 
 That was hurried there long ago, 
 
 Their spirits have long since known 
 A peace that no mortal can know. 
 
 What matter if briers are o'erhead, 
 The wildflow'rs peep in between. 
 
 And the God of the souls of these dead 
 Will keep their prairie graves green. 
 
 16 
 
The ninds of Men. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^^. HEY 'RE here today, tomorrow 
 hence, 
 Away, away, you know not 
 where; 
 
 They roam and seek and hide and fly, 
 Away, away, to some new sphere. 
 
 Some speed away with knowledge wings — 
 Forget all else, forget themselves — 
 And seek and dig and prod their brains, 
 And build a home where genius dwells. 
 
 Ambitious greed 's by others sought, 
 Who grind and grin — forget their soul — 
 Enslaving men ■ — trod over them — 
 For gold, for gold, the miser's goal. 
 
 And some minds know not what they seek, 
 But drift and drift mid surge's roar; 
 No anchor 's cast, no sails are set. 
 They drift and drift to fate's grim shore. 
 
 And some seek peace and quietude. 
 And rest and joy mid Nature's sway, 
 And Godly hours and quietness. 
 Mid Nature's scenes, mid Nature's day. 
 
 Some wend their way to higher planes, 
 Where sunset rays seek distant land; 
 Where angels sing, where music floats 
 To welcome them — peaceful and grand. 
 
 ' 17 
 
Some journey on to deep distress, 
 
 To sorrowed care — unrest, unrest; 
 
 To brilliiint halls of devils' dens 
 
 And darkened souls — on pleasure quest. 
 
 II. 
 
 The minds of men bring joy and hate, 
 Disaster grim and death and health; 
 The devil's grin, an angel's song, 
 And poverty, and wealth and wealth. 
 
 The minds of men, ye know them not; 
 Your friend by stealth may sting your soul, 
 May cast you off and bruise your heart. 
 May speed you to Despair's grim shoal. 
 
 The minds of men blow strong, blow weak, 
 Where angels soar, where devils speak; 
 They swish and swirl like waves of wind — 
 Like sorrows, moan — like winds they shriek. 
 
 Lawd Hoi' Dis NIgge's Han». 
 
 HEN de chickens hang low on 
 de hick'ry tree, 
 An' de stars hang high o'er 
 de Ian', 
 
 An' dars no one nigh dar a watchin' 
 ob me — 
 Lawd hoi' dis nigge's han'. 
 
 18 
 
When de co'n stalks bow to de summe' day's 
 smile, 
 
 An' de mellon makes lub to de san', 
 An' dar's no one nigher dan jest 'bout er mile — 
 
 Lawd hoi' dis nigge's han'. 
 
 When de fat hog roots 'round dis nigge's back 
 ya'd, 
 
 Dat b'longs to de rich white man, 
 An' de ol' woman 's out ob bacon an' la'd — 
 
 Lawd hoi' dis nigge's han'. 
 
 When de milk house sto'es de yalle' butte' 
 squa'es, 
 
 An de cream runs obe' de pan; 
 Remembe' Lawd dis triflin' nigge's praye's — 
 
 Lawd hoi' dis nigge's han'. 
 
 A 
 
 Morning-Qlories. 
 
 S fresh as the new morn, 
 As blue as the sky, 
 As bright as the new-born 
 Dew drops near by 
 
 As sweet as the good cheer 
 That cometh with Love: 
 
 A message for life drear 
 From Grod above. 
 
 19 
 
H 
 
 Idle Hours. 
 
 OURS — idle hours — ye sires of all sin, 
 Begone with thy strife, begone with thy 
 din! 
 
 Hours — idle hours — that bitterness bring — 
 Not of the guileless — begone with thy sting! 
 
 Hours — idle hours — of despondency's state, 
 Knowing not goodness — begone with thj' hate! 
 
 Hours — idle hours — what crimes wouldst thou 
 
 win? 
 Pilgrims from darkness — begone with thy sin! 
 
 Hours — idle hours — begone with thy prate! 
 By the sweat of our brow 'tis decreed that we 
 
 live. 
 Love is of God and Work is her mate — 
 Hours— idle hours — begone with thy fate! 
 
 m Qoln' Back to the Farm. 
 
 'M goin' back to the farm Sal, 
 
 I'm goin' back to the farm; 
 From the city's rush to the 
 woodland hush — 
 I 'm goin' back to the farm. 
 
 20 
 
I 'm goin' back to the farm Sal, 
 Back to the wild flow'r sea; 
 Whar the blackbirds play in the new cured hay, 
 Back whar Freedom 's free. 
 
 I 'm goin' back to the farm Sal, 
 Back to the pure blue sky; 
 Whar' the budlets bloom awiay the gloom, 
 Back whar the blue birds fly. 
 
 I 'm goin' back to the farm Sal, 
 Away from the streets of din; 
 Thar 's too much gush in the city's rush, 
 And too much pride and sin. 
 
 I 'm goin' back to the farm Sal; 
 (Thar 's nothin' here worth while), 
 Whar the zephyrs play with the leaflets gay. 
 Back whar the May days smile. 
 
 I, m goin' back to the farm Sal, 
 I'm goin' back to the farm; 
 For my heart strings here are out o' gear — 
 I 'm goin' back to the farm. 
 
 21 
 
The TraiTip*s Awakening. 
 
 I. 
 
 IS clothes are all ragged, 
 His whiskers are jagged, 
 And his feet move slow 
 ^^^ O'er the hot splintered 
 ties; 
 
 He once was a rich man, 
 But now has struck hard-pan 
 In whisky, which shows thro' his blue bleared 
 eyes. 
 
 II 
 
 He once had a good home, 
 
 But ever doth now roam 
 Away from the child and wife of his heart. 
 
 He 's lost all his manhood, 
 
 He 's lost all his friends good, 
 And the devil has pierced his soul with a dart. 
 
 III. 
 
 At home a fond wife waits. 
 On her knee a fond child prates 
 The name of the father that 's fallen so low; 
 The true mother kneels there 
 'Side his empty old arm chair, 
 And prays the true way He the wayward will 
 show. 
 
 22 
 
IV. 
 
 The prayer went to Christ, who 
 Gave to angels, who there flew 
 With a message of hope where wearied he slept; 
 They o'er him a dream cast — 
 A review of his life past, 
 And left the message of hope while he wept. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thus weeping, he woke there. 
 In his heart found peace, where 
 Before was hatred and deep bitter strife; 
 And kneeling he prayed there, 
 That God might his soul spare. 
 Might help him to live a worthier life. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And God the asked help gave, 
 That the tempter might rave 
 For his wounded weak soul forever in vain. 
 He took his wrecked self home, 
 Away from his death roam. 
 And now from his life comes an angel's refrain. 
 
 Wild Flowers. 
 
 THE flowers that grow on the prairies 
 Are kisses from heaven above. 
 Which spring up each year in their glory 
 To tell of God's wonderful love. 
 
 23 
 
Playing Hookey. 
 
 ,T 'S many a day since I was tliere, 
 By the old box stove, and the 
 
 room so bare 
 Of everything else but plain 
 pine seats — 
 In the old log school house. 
 
 Where me and my chum played hookey together 
 One morning bright, and crossed the "meader" 
 To the deep blue stream — 
 Away from the old log school house. 
 
 Where we lazily fished and tho't ourselves wise 
 As we lay on the bank and fixed up the lies 
 That we 'd have to tell 
 . In the old log school house. 
 
 Nor did we dream as we fished away 
 That our parents would visit the school that day, 
 And I '11 never, forget the licking I got 
 ; In the old log school house. 
 
 I 
 
 24 
 
A Song of the Woods. 
 
 OUT in the wild woods I wandered one day, 
 Away from the city with its dust and 
 its smoke, 
 And I saw the children of Nature at play. 
 Who of peace and joy and happiness spoke. 
 
 I wandered beside the cool country road 
 That bordered alongside the swift rippling 
 
 brook, 
 And I almost stepped on a lazy green toad. 
 That hobbled away to a cool shady nook. 
 
 I walked in the shade of the whispering trees 
 That sheltered the birds which sang me their 
 
 song, 
 And I saw through the leaves the wandering 
 
 bees 
 A working and buzzing the whole day long. 
 
 I saw in the stream, little fishes at rest. 
 And under the rocks where the craw-fishes 
 
 crawled; 
 And over my head the mocking birds nest; 
 And down at the ford the old co"^ bawled. 
 
 In an old dead pine a woodpecker pecked; 
 And the green summer leaves there whispered 
 
 to me, 
 And a hidden Bob White gave me cause to 
 
 reflect 
 As he whistled away in the top of a tree. 
 
 25 
 
Oti a crooked dead limb a red squirrel skurried, 
 And under the bushes th« lizzards had fun, 
 And down at my feet the black ants hurried, 
 Each packing a load, and each on a run. 
 
 In between leaves speckled shadows were cast, 
 And in a great knot a scared coon scrambled. 
 And a blue racer snake rustled leaves as I 
 
 passed, 
 Hunting safer retreats than the place whore 
 
 I rambled. 
 
 And the woodland air was balmy to me. 
 With its woodland scent I ne'er can describe, 
 And I would I could wander, and ever be free 
 To walk in the woods and in Nature confide. 
 
 Two Drivers. 
 
 HEN Love is at the reins 
 How clear doth grow the way; 
 And all the ills and pains 
 Doth cease; how light the day 
 When Love is at the reins. 
 
 When Hate is at the reins 
 Contention holdeth sway; 
 How dark the soul; the stains 
 Of sin how hard to stay 
 When Hate is at the reins. 
 
 26 
 
A Morning Reverie. 
 
 I see Thy face amid the blossoms of the tree; 
 Thy love within the early budding flower, 
 And with the thankful birds I'd send a song- 
 
 to Thee 
 O God, my God, precious God of peace and 
 
 power. 
 
 De Roas'in' Time is Har. 
 
 OH put on de fi'e log 
 An' pile de fi'eplace high; 
 De fros' am on de meader, 
 And de win's hab 'gun ter sigh! 
 Oh put on de fi'e log, 
 An' leab de ashes dar; 
 Bring on de sweet potaters, 
 Fo' de roas'in' time is har! 
 
 Oh put on de fi'e log, 
 An' bring yo' chars aroun'; 
 Dar 's nuthin' lak er fi'e-glow 
 Fo' ter make de comfort soun'! 
 Oh put on de fi'e log 
 You lazy nigge' dar; 
 Bring on de sweet potaters, 
 Fo' de roas'in' time is har! 
 
 27 
 
Oh put on de fi'e log 
 An' burn de webs erway; 
 De Summe' days hab fleeted, 
 An' de Ian' am turnin' gray! 
 Oh put on de fi'e log' 
 A'n fill de wood-box dar; 
 Brhig on de sweet potaters, 
 Fo' de roas'in' time is har! 
 
 Oh put on de fi'e log, 
 An' keep de col' at h-dj; 
 De Winte' win's am moanin' 
 Fo' de flowe's dead terday! 
 Oh put on de fi'e log, 
 An' leab de ashes dar; 
 Bring on de sweet potaters, 
 Fo' de roas'in' time is har! 
 
 The Little Reaper. 
 
 ODDLINGr along in the morn of 
 life. 
 Toddling along with nothing 
 to fear; 
 
 Knowing naught of the world and 
 strife; 
 Reaping the smiles of a mother's cheer. 
 
 28 
 
Toddling along through leaflets of love; 
 Toddling along the by-ways of Peace; 
 Cooing a song from the angels above; 
 Reaping a harvest of Love's increase. 
 
 Toddling along through playfulness hours; 
 Picking the blossoms of babyhood glee; 
 Reaping a harvest of Joy from the bowers 
 That bend with the fruits of Innocency. 
 
 
 Great Men. 
 
 Great men are as mountains 
 Which point their peaks into the sky; 
 Like mountain peaks they'll always stand, 
 For deeds they 've done that will not die. 
 
 29 
 
T 
 
 The Swamp Angel. 
 
 O her is charged full many a tear; 
 From many a home she 's driven cheer; 
 To many a soul she hath brought fear - 
 The Swamp Angel. 
 
 She careth not for tears and moans; 
 She soweth ever anguish groans; 
 She leaveth only dust and bones — 
 The Swamp Angel. 
 
 Beauty and wealth, and fame, and age. 
 Cannot delay her visitage; 
 To each she brings a heritage — 
 The Swamp Angel. 
 
 O Soul! What will that heirdom be? 
 'Where will you spend eternity?" 
 Tomorrow she may come for thee — 
 The Swamp Angel. 
 
 © 
 
 Buttercups. 
 
 OLD and yellow and yellow and gold: 
 What a richness are they to behold; 
 Bowing and bending with kisses and sighs, 
 Bending and bowing under the skies, 
 
 * -jt * 
 30 
 
Gold and yellow and yellow and gold: 
 What a message is theirs to unfold; 
 Telling to lovers of Truth and Deceit, 
 Bending and bowing under their feet. 
 
 Gold and yellow and yellow and gold: 
 The beauty of them hath never been told. 
 Peace and rest they 'r' smiling today; 
 Bending and bowing as if they would pray. 
 
 Gold and yellow and yellow and gold: 
 What a richness are they to behold: 
 Bowing and bending with kisses and sighs, 
 Bending and bowing under the skies. 
 
 Did You Ever? 
 
 ID you ever wake up in the night 
 To the mewl and scratch of 
 a fight, 
 And pull your hair. 
 And toss, and swear 
 That you 'd kill the cats in the morning? 
 
 Did you ever wake up in the night 
 
 To the awful pinch of a chinch bug's bite, 
 
 And scratch and smash, 
 
 And wish for the flash 
 Of the sun, and the early morning? 
 
 31 
 
Did you ever wake up in the night, 
 
 A thinking you 'd fallen from an awful height: 
 
 And find on the floor, 
 
 Yourself, mighty sore, 
 A wishing for the early morning? 
 
 Did you ever wake up in the night, 
 
 And put on your clothes and get out o' sight 
 
 Of that awful squall — 
 
 Of a baby's bawl, 
 And shiver around till the morning? 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Twilight. 
 
 THE distant mounts are deep in the gold 
 That the red sun casts as it seeks the lands 
 Where darkened shadows are wont to fold 
 In mystic sleep the orient bands. 
 
 And their snow-capped peaks are red with 
 
 the blush 
 Of the good-bye kiss of the parting light, 
 And the Western world seeks rest in the hush 
 And the solitude of the new-born night. 
 
 32 
 
Ter Make er Darkle White. 
 
 AR am not a human pow'r 
 Ter change er face ob night; 
 It takes mo' dan paint an' 
 flour 
 Ter make er darkie white. 
 
 Can't git there wid flyin' 'chines, 
 
 Soon be in er plight — 
 Takes er monstrous heap ob queens 
 
 Ter make er darkie white. 
 
 'T aint no use ter try ter shine; 
 
 Do you tres yo' might, 
 Put on ai's am not er gwine 
 
 Ter make er darkie white. 
 
 What 's de use ter 'moan yo' fate, 
 
 Wid conditions fight — 
 It takes mo' dan foolish prate 
 
 Ter make er darkie white. 
 
 Make de bes' ob what yo' got; 
 
 Be ca'm an' contrite — 
 Takes er soul widout er blot 
 
 Ter make er darkie white. 
 
 What you 's bo'n you 's boun' ter be; 
 
 Grawd knows what am right — 
 It takes His eternity 
 
 Ter make er darkie white 
 
 33 
 
To the Pessimists. 
 
 E dogs of humanity! 
 What hellish growls and grins 
 
 art thine! 
 Ye lives of tyranny! 
 There 's nothing from thee that 's divine. 
 What crimes art hid within thy life; 
 What good has ever come from thee; 
 Hast thou e'er lifted from the strife 
 A soul, or fought its deviltry? 
 
 Ye dogs of humanitjM 
 
 O stop thy wail of discontent! 
 
 Never from selfdom free; 
 
 Vile hate is thine and it has bent 
 
 Thy life and shriveled it and bound 
 
 Thee to the yoke of jealousy! 
 
 Why dost thou ever hunt and hound 
 
 The golden state of Pleasantry? 
 
 Ye dogs of humanity! 
 Abhorred thou art by all mankind; 
 There 's nothing good of life to thee, 
 The dark side thou dost ever find. 
 The flowers of life thou passeth by 
 To wallow in the mud and stain; 
 Thou hast no song but e'er doth cry 
 Like wolves upon a desert plain. 
 
 34 
 
Have Faith in God Anotlier Year. 
 
 © 
 
 RAY-haired grandpa in his chair, 
 Dozed off in dreanis one day, 
 And climbing high a golden stair, 
 He heard the angels pray 
 And chant to music soft and clear, 
 Have faith in God another year." 
 
 Have faith in G-od another year: 
 The way is bright when He is near, 
 The burdens light; how sweet the tear 
 When dark despair is changed to cheer; 
 Have faith in God another year. 
 
 Have faith in God another year: 
 And trust in Him and cease to fear; 
 He calls to thee — "Lo! I am here!" 
 Have faith in God another year. 
 
 Have faith in God another year: 
 'T is not for long that thou canst rear 
 Good deeds unto the Saviour dear — 
 Thy days are steps unto the bier; 
 Have faith in God another year. 
 
 35 
 
Julie Ann, Artist. 
 
 >:v,HE never liked to wash an' 
 
 scrub, 
 ^L} An' dust an' sweep the 
 ir~~ floor, 
 Ma sed she wuzn't wuth her grub, 
 I sed she wuz — an' more. 
 
 But Julie Ann, she persevered, 
 
 An' painted nature green, 
 An' sed to ma that if she keered 
 
 She 'd paint her in a scene. 
 
 An' ma sed she would like to see 
 
 Herself in ile an' paint. 
 An' underneath the ol' shade tree 
 
 She posed — the dear ol' saint. 
 
 Pa, Jack, an' me, must pose, she sed, 
 To make the scene complete — 
 
 She sed she 'd paint the ol' homestead 
 An' fiel's o' rollin' wheat. 
 
 36 
 
An' me she had a cryin' there, 
 
 An' pa a standin' nigh, 
 An' ma a weepin' 'side her chair, 
 
 A biddin' Jack good-bye. 
 
 For days an' days she worked away 
 With paints o' green an' blue; 
 
 With yaller, brown, an' black, an' gray 
 My, how that picture grew! 
 
 That "Leavin' Scene," it got to be 
 
 So rale that ma would cry, 
 An' onct or twist I chanced to see 
 
 Pa wipe a weepin' eye. 
 
 An' Jack fo'got hisself one day. 
 An' packed his clo's a bit — 
 
 A thinkin' he was goin' away 
 Instead o' posin' it. 
 
 But Julie Ann, she persevered, 
 
 An' one day went to seek 
 A purchaser, an' sed she feared 
 
 She'd be away a week. 
 
 She tuck it to an artist show — 
 
 It wuz a big surprise; 
 The jedges all admired it, so 
 
 They giv to her the prize. 
 
 37 
 
An' too, before the week had slid 
 
 She sold it to a man — 
 Five thousand dollars wuz the bid 
 
 He giv' our Julie Ann. 
 
 She never liked to wash an' scrub, 
 An' dust an' sweep the floor, 
 
 Ma sed she wuz n't wuth her grub, 
 I sed she wuz — an' more. 
 
 w 
 
 To the Wind. 
 
 HY moanest thou, O restless winds 
 Of Winter's zone and chill; 
 Hast thou in moans a messsage — 
 A mandate to fulfill? 
 
 Hast thou a message from the dead, 
 From souls in darkness' spell — 
 
 Canst thou not tell, O moaning winds, 
 Tales they would have thee tell? 
 
 O didst thou come from dungeons, 
 Of the Devil — dark and deep — 
 
 And didst thou break thy bondage chains 
 While watchmen were asleep? 
 
 38 
 
And is 't thy duty now to roam 
 
 Upon the earth and seek 
 Souls on the road to hell-bound halls 
 
 Wouldst thou a warning speak? 
 
 Wail on, O winds of chill, 
 
 If such a message thou dost bring; 
 And make the souls of men to quake, 
 
 And teach them how to sing. 
 
 Honey-Suckles. 
 
 S rich as the gold 
 That hides beneath the moun- 
 tain peak; 
 Lifting their heads with joy 
 To blithesome maids who seek 
 The wealth they doth unfold. 
 
 As bright as the morn's 
 First wand'ring ray of light; 
 Seeking the dews that loved 
 Them through the night, 
 They send their glory forth. 
 
 The joy of the morn. 
 
 With eyes uplifted unto Peace 
 
 As if to catch 
 
 Some far-off music ere it cease — 
 
 Sweet Nature's morning prayer. 
 
 39 
 
Down Whar de June Bugs Hum. 
 
 I'S up in de country dat dey calls Puget Soun', 
 Whar it rains an' snows de whole yea' roun', 
 An' I sorter wish dat I 'd staid away, 
 An' I wish I war back whar dey 's makin' hay — 
 Down whar de June bugs hum! 
 
 I wish I war down whar de sun shines some; 
 Whar de Springtime buds an' fun hab come; 
 Whar de raccoon clim's de pekon tree, 
 Dar am de place dat I 'd like ter be — 
 Down whar de June bugs hum! 
 
 Down on de Arkansaw bottom Ian' 
 
 Whar de ribber runs through de gol'eu san'; 
 
 Whar de mockin' birds sing at de shack in de 
 
 mo'n, 
 A makin' yo' glad dat yo' war bo'n — 
 Down whar de June bugs hum! 
 
 I sees on de bank de ol' flat boat. 
 An' ober de wabes de trot line's float; 
 An' I sees cross on de yaller san' 
 A little black gal a wabin' her han' — 
 Down whar de June bugs hum. 
 
 I hea's de toot ob de ol' tin ho'n 
 Dat 'sturbed my dreams in de 'arly mo'n. 
 An' I tu'ns in de bed to ketch dat flea; 
 Gosh! Would'n' dis nigge' like 'ter be — 
 Down whar de June bugs hum! 
 
 40 
 
Before the Dawn. 
 
 S rivers run into to sea 
 Lives run to eternity; 
 Lives that are like to a dream 
 Flitting with the morning 
 gleana 
 Of the sun that chased the night 
 From the realms of day's delight. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Life is but a night to me, 
 But a dream to set me free. 
 
 * * * 
 
 As the flowers burst from gloom 
 Into wondrous morning bloom; 
 So my soul will take its flight 
 Out of darkness into light. 
 
 A 
 
 ^ 
 
 Science at Home. 
 
 DIRTY street, 
 
 And dirty children playing 'round 
 
 about; 
 A muddy stairs 
 That rattle under weight; 
 Some spider homes 
 With inmates put to rout; 
 A creaking door 
 That knows no other state. 
 
 41 
 
A row of shelves 
 
 Where musty books find place; 
 
 A telescope 
 
 That points into the sky; 
 
 A book of notes 
 
 Which tell where planets race; 
 
 A lot of bones 
 
 That lay on shelves near by. 
 
 A desk that 's 
 
 Worn and tells of age; 
 
 A copper wheel 
 
 'Round which wiry brushes fly; 
 
 A wrinkled man 
 
 Who turns a wrinkled page — 
 
 'T is Science 
 
 In his home a-finding Why. 
 
 Pride's Redemption. 
 
 I. 
 
 Pride came with golden wings: 
 Sweet Patience took her flight; 
 Love followed her, and Light; 
 And Poverty's sharp stings 
 Came with the sorrowed night. 
 
 II. 
 
 Pride's splendor wings were shorn 
 Of Grold; she stooped to pray 
 And rising found it day, 
 And by her side Hope born, 
 And Poverty — away! 
 
 42 
 
Despair Not, O Soul! 
 
 SORROWED soul of grief and 
 
 care, 
 Go bathe thy brow with angel 
 tears; 
 
 Forget the past, forget the now, 
 And build thy hopes on coming years. 
 
 O sorrowed soul, walk not the path 
 Of haughty Pride, which leads to hell; 
 But anchor Hope on Grod the guide, 
 And swing thee up where angels dwell. 
 
 O sorrowed soul, ne'er think despair, 
 For death is that to thee and Hope; 
 'T will bind thee, soul, in dungeons dark. 
 And weary hours cause thee to grope. 
 
 O sorrowed soul, look up! look up! 
 Away from worms of sorrowed lands; 
 Look ye to Him who stands to save 
 You, sorrowed soul, by love commands. 
 
 Opportunity. 
 
 Men are what they will to be. 
 Genius is not gifts of dreams. 
 Opportunity is a sea 
 Fed each day by golden streams. 
 
 43 
 
T 
 
 To Benna Bennington. 
 
 RIPPING- one, skipping one — 
 Full of life and gay — 
 Daughter of the Sunshine, 
 Laughing on thy way; 
 Trip along with thy song, 
 Making bright the day. 
 
 Tripping one, skipping one. 
 Clouds are naught to thee; 
 For between the storm rifts 
 Thou dost ever see 
 With thine eyes — 
 Blue as skies — 
 Blessings full and free. 
 
Tripping one, skipping one, 
 With the winds that blow 
 Love and Joy and Happiness: 
 Everywhere you go 
 Life is bright — all is light — 
 Care you do not know. 
 
 Tripping one, skipping one — 
 Smiling eyes thy dart — 
 Jewel to some soul life. 
 Diamond to some heart: 
 Trip along with thy song — 
 Happiness thou art. 
 
 When de Milk is Friz. 
 
 DE win' blows w-o-o-o 
 Jes' unde' de do', 
 ^ An' de cracks in de shack 
 need fixin', 
 An' de snow sif's through 
 On de ha'd-pan fio' — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 An' de groun' goes crunch 
 Jes' unde' yo' feet, 
 An' de fros' hab whitewashed de Ian', 
 An' de ba'n-tribes bunch 
 Fo' to git mo' heat — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 De ripe 'simmons drap 
 From de leafless lim', 
 
 45 
 
An' de Norf ducks squak o'er de fiel', 
 An' de fodder crap 
 Am shocked an' grim — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 O, de ice am thin 
 'Long de road-side ruts, 
 An' de fluffy smoke 's in yo' breaf, 
 An' de white folk's chillin 
 Am gaderin' nuts — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 An' de fi'eplace glows 
 Whar de fi'e-logs crack, 
 An' de taters roas' in de ashes; 
 An' de white man's hoes 
 Am put in de rack — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 An' de white man goes 
 To de mill to grine 
 His co'n fo' de Winte's eatin', 
 An' de col' win blows 
 Through de dead po'ch vine — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 An' de fiel' looks sad 
 Whar de taters growed, 
 An' de co'n stumps look fo'lornsome; 
 An de fros' looks glad 
 At de death its sowed — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 An' de woods am still, 
 Fo' de birds hab flown 
 To de clime whar de leabes stay green; 
 An' de Winte's chill 
 O'er de Ian is sown — 
 When de milk is friz. 
 
 46 
 
The Qhost« of Might-liave-Beens. 
 
 the ghosts of might-have-beens— 
 Of despair: 
 Ghosts of hours we wish were 
 dead, 
 
 Grhosts of words in anger said, 
 Ghosts of selfdom o'er our head — 
 Always there! 
 
 O the ghosts of might-have-beens 
 
 Do not rest: 
 In remorse they bend us low, 
 They are everywhere we go, 
 They are winds of wrong that blow 
 
 In our breast! 
 
 O the ghosts of might-have-beens — 
 
 Ghosts of fate: 
 Ghosts of sinning and of shame, 
 Ghosts of hell and of its flame; 
 Ever here and there the same — 
 
 Ghosts of hate! 
 
 O the ghosts of might-have-beens 
 
 Never die: 
 They are of the sinning past; 
 Though forgiven, they shall last. 
 Grim regrets until the blast — 
 
 From on high! 
 
 47 
 
T 
 
 What is " to Die? 
 
 HE flowers fade, and die 
 To bloom again; 
 And thus, in death, decry- 
 That life is vain. 
 
 The rain drop gave its life 
 
 To yonder flower; 
 Thus ceased its hopeless strife 
 
 For wealth and power. 
 
 And did the rain drop die — 
 
 Born for an hour? 
 Nay, 't is the sweet rose, high 
 
 Upon the bower. 
 * * * 
 
 We only live to die. 
 And die to live. 
 To free our souls, and give 
 To death the lie. 
 
 Greed. 
 
 Grod pity him who sells his soul for naught; 
 Who feeds his heart with foulish poison weed: 
 Who fills his hours with selfishness that 's 
 
 wrought 
 Into his life desire for hellish greed! 
 
 48 
 
The OwKs A=\vho=a=whoI 
 
 HERMIT of the air he is, 
 
 A prowler in the night; 
 
 His home is some sequestered 
 
 spot, 
 Away from human sight. 
 This King of Night is never seen, 
 Save when he bids adieu 
 To dream of day and pealeth forth 
 His who-a-who-a-who! 
 
 The trickling brook, in quietness. 
 Upon its journey speeds. 
 Through banks of sand and weeping moss 
 And budding blooms and reeds; 
 The birds have ceased their joyous song. 
 And wakeful things are few, 
 And all of earth is stillness save 
 The owl's a-who-a-who! 
 
 The tinkle, tinkle, of the bell 
 Is quiet in the lane. 
 And in the stary dark the moon 
 Hangs o'er in peaceful rein; 
 The spirit frogs have ceased to croak, 
 And Nature 's drinking dew, 
 When silent hillsides echo back 
 The owl's a-who-who! 
 
 The children in the garrets dream 
 Of ghosts and wake in fright, 
 And pull the covers o'er their heads 
 And wish that it was light; 
 And in the woods the trav'ler lone 
 Well wants his journey through 
 Whene'er he hears its ghostly tone — 
 The owl's a-who-a-who! 
 
 Down in the vale the village sleeps; 
 The by-ways all are still; 
 
 49 
 
The darkened shadows holdeth sway 
 Around the water-mill; 
 The wayward drunkard staggers home, 
 And stops in fright to view 
 His sin-cursed soul on hearing there — 
 The owl's a-who-a-who! 
 
 The wood tribes breathe in quiet rest; 
 Night into morning creeps; 
 The moon is hidden in the west, 
 Beyond the mountain steeps; 
 The night is giving place to day, 
 Dark skies to those of blue — 
 x\nd far and faint is to be heard 
 The owl's a-who-a-who! 
 
 The Rheumatic Chicken. 
 
 Did yo' eber see er chickin wid th' rheu-ma-tiz? 
 If yo' nebe' yo' don' know how bad it is — 
 Fo' de chickin. 
 
 Yo' 's not lak er chickin — hit can't sit down. 
 So w'en hit 's got de rheumatiz, jes' hobbles roun' 
 An' keeps — er pickin'. 
 
 Now ef yo' war er chickin an' couldn' si' down, 
 An' had de rheumatiz, an' could jes' hobble roun' 
 Would yo' keep — er kickin'. 
 
 Dar 's er moral in de chickin — so when' yo' 's 
 
 got de blues' 
 Or de rheumatiz, or sumpin', keep er patchin' yo' 
 
 shoes. 
 Keep — er jumpin'. 
 
 50 
 
T 
 
 Blossoms of Love. 
 
 HERE are blossoms grown each year 
 
 For each tear: 
 They are yellow, blue and green; 
 They grow smiling in between; 
 They are Love and Joy, I ween — 
 
 Laughing near. 
 
 There are blossoms grown each year 
 
 For each fear: 
 They are red, purple and white; 
 They put sorrows all to flight, 
 Day by day and night by night — 
 
 Never fear. 
 
 There are blossoms grown each day 
 
 For dismay: 
 They grow smiling everywhere; 
 There is one for every care, 
 There is one for eyevy tare — 
 
 If you pray. 
 
 There are blossoms grown each day 
 
 For each fray: 
 They will bloom around your soul, 
 They will guide you to the goal 
 Of your God, far from the shoal 
 
 Of delay. 
 
 They are blossoms from our God 
 
 And His Rod: 
 There 's a blossom for each tear, 
 There 's a blossom for each fear, 
 There's a blossom for life drear; 
 They are always blooming near — 
 
 God is God! 
 
 51 
 
Sambo's Soliloquy. 
 
 'D rade' be er nigge' wid er 
 
 coal black skin 
 An' er lub fo' truth an' 
 
 re-lig-i'n, 
 Dan er rich white man wid 
 
 er bushel ob sin. 
 
 I 'd rade' be er nigge' wid er black man's hash 
 Dan er stuck-up white widout any cash, 
 A warin' cheap clo's lak de po' white trash. 
 
 I 'd rade' be er nigge' wid true nigge' ways, 
 
 A libin' happily all my nigge' day, 
 
 Dan er triflin' white wid er mode'n craze. 
 
 I 'd rade' be er nigge' wid yalle' co'n bre'd. 
 An' 'lasses an' lub, an' er plain straw bed 
 Dan er po' white trash wid er silly head. 
 
 I 'd rade' be er nigge' no-how I guess, 
 Fo' de Lawd made me lak all de res' 
 Fo' to Serb some en', an' I '11 do my bes'. 
 
 52 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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