^ hantkhr HarrvS-Chester \ ^ "ii^y — LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Chap. Copyright No. Shelf. .H-4JT W ^ \<^00 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. HARRY S. CHESTER. WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT AND OTHER POEMS. HARRY S. CHESTER. EX-KHAK.T, IJ^D. TRUTH PCBX-ISHINQ HOUSE, leoo. 20917 65301 Library of Congress Two Copies Received JUL 13 1900 Copyright entry SECOND COPY. Delivered to ORDER DIVISION, —JUL 171900 BY HAKKY S. CJHESTERr To my friend, Hon. C. G. CONN, this little book is respectfully d'edicated. If this little book impart Joy unto a single heart Better far for me than gold Recompense a thousand fold. CONTENTS. PAGB. When the Light Goes Out 1 The Old Year 4 Unidentified 6 The Old Home 9 Out At Dunlaps Station 11 Recessional 13 A Strain of Music 15 True Love That Never Dies 18 The River Styx 19 Gentleman Jim 22 Christiana Lake 23 Organ Grinder's Song 26 Nellie Dale 27 The Blue and The Gray 30 The Old St. Jo 31 O Happy Youth 33 Easter 34 Life Is But A Round of Pleasure 35 At Blenheim Castle 36 A Di-eam of Life 37 After Winter Comes The Spring 41 It Might Be Worse 42 Since Nellie Went Away 45 You Can't Please Every One 48 A French Idyl 49 Smoky Run 50 The Wakarusa Band 52 Toast To The Ladies 54 •' Whirrul "It 57 Our Boys In Blue .58 Lullaby 59 Santiago 60 The Privates And Tlie Crew 61 Frog Quartette 63 TheClock 65 The Typical Tramp 67 As We Are 70 Dewey's Comin' Home 73 It's Better To Believe 75 B. P. O. E 78 My Little Baby Boy 80 Our Own Jack Tar 81 Old Glory 82 The Old Cane Pole 83 Tale Of The Tyro 84 Lef ebre 87 Washington 89 WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT. THO' yer lamp o' life is burnin' with a clear an' steady light, An' it never seems ter flicker, but it's allers shinin' bright ; Tho' it sheds its rays unbroken for a thousan' happy days- Father Time is ever turnin' down the wick thet feeds the blaze. So it clearly is yer duty ef you've got a thing ter do, Ter put yer shoulder to the wheel an' try to push her through : Ef yer upon a wayward track yer better turn about— You've lost ther chance ter do it when the Light Goes Out. Speak kindly to the woman who is workin' for yer praise. The same way ez you used ter in those happy courtin' days ; She likes appreciation jest the same ez me an' you, An' it's only right an' proper thet yer give her what is due. Don't wait until her lamp o' life is burnin' dim an' low, Afore you tell her what you orter told her long ago— Now's the time ter cheer her up an' put her blues to rout— You've lost ther chance to do it when the Light Goes Out. Don't keep a puttin' matters off an' settin dates ahead- Tomorrow's sun '11 find a hundred thousand of us dead ; Don't think because yer feelin' well you wT)n't be sick no more — Sometimes the reddest pippin hez a worm-hole to the core. Don't let a killin" habit grow upon you soft an' still Because you think thet you ken throw it from you et your win- dow's the time ter quit it when yer feelin' brave an' stout— You've lost the chance ter do it when the Light Goes Out. Id ruther die with nuthin' then ter hev the people say Thet I lied got my money in a robbin', graspin' way; No words above my restin' place from any tongue or pen Would liev a deeper meanin' then "He helped his fellow men." So ef you hev a fortune an' you want to help the poor Don't keep a stavin' off until you get a little more ; Ef yer upon a miser's track you better turn about— Yer record keeps on burnin' when the Light Goes Out. — 3 — G THE OLD YEAR. 'tis not without a sigh I realize this hour is tliy last, For in thy wake a thousand memories lie Like changeless specters of the buried past. I had a friend, Old Year, a generous boy- Good resolutions marked his start with thee ; But sorrow drowned his fondest hopes of joy, And happiness gave way to misery. Aye, for a while no storm-cloud marred the sky ; Proudly he rode life's great uncertain ship, Until the rock temptation dimmed his eye And resolutions froze upon his lip. He knows the mighty secret (if to know Befalls the lot of every human soul) Of death's true meaning— of the awful flow Of human hearts to life's old-fashioned goal. I had a dearer friend, Old Year, and she With all a woman's grander virtues shone. Most nobly pure in her simplicity — But she is dead, and I am all alone. With poignant grief and sorrow thou art through, Departed one ! Sleep in thy hallowed place ; For like the shamrock drinks the morning dew One heart absorbs the image of thy face. Though time may change the noblest form to cl^y, And rack the living with a ceaseless strife, Naught can diminish memory's soothing ray, That slieds its beauty down the path of life. Old dying year, I would not have thee stay ; Fly on, and meet the countless thousands who Within thy varied chapter passed away— Good-by, Old Year — I enter on the new. UNIDENTIFIED. THEE' comes the undertaker's team a-trot- tin' down the street With somethin' in the wagon thet is cov- ered with a sheet : ' T won't be long afore tlie crowd begins to gather 'round To see tlie undertaker fit thet somethin' for the ground. Some poor mortal's seen the last o' misery an' woe; Some poor brother knows the secret everyone must know; Somehow 't blurs a feller's eyes to think of how he died — Drownded up the river, an' he's unidentified. His clothin' an' his gen'ral style don't bear re- finement's stamp— The chances are thet he was some despondent, starvin' tramp Who thought thet he hed taken mor n his share o' sorrow's cup An' jumped into the river jest to wind the busi- ness up. The world ain't goin' to weepin'— jest a few'll gather 'round An' help to lift the plain pine box an' drop it in the ground ; The ordinary mortal ain't a-goin' to turn aside An' lose much time attendin' to the unidenti- fied. Ther' may be acliin' hearts in some far distant land tliet burn With longin' for the son o' their's thet never will return : Ther' may be little children waitin' some ers at the door For footsteps that'll fall upon the threshold nevermore ; Ther' may be one thet's prayin' for the clouds to roll apart An' let a ray o' sunshine creep into her bleedin' heart- She 11 never see the sunshine, for her hope an' joy an' pride Hez drownded up the river, an' he's unidenti- fied. We don't know who the stranger wuz or what he might ha' been— He might ha' been a hero once among his fel- low men ; He might ha' had a happy home till fortune turned away An' misery an' trouble drove him where he is today. He might ha' been industrious— he might ha' been — oh, well, He might ha' been most anything— ther an't no way to tell— Ther" an't no use conjecturin'— we only know he died Jest like a thousand others who are uniden ti- lled. — 7 -- - It's hard enough to see a brother laid away to rest When lovin' hands '11 fold his frozen hands across his breast ; But when yer see a feller die with not a friend in sight, It allers seems thet somehow things an't run- nin' on jest right ; An' when they put him in the ground an' mark his grave " Unknown," It makes me think thet mebbe he won't stay there all alone. For God an't goin' to pass him by an' miss him jest becuz He drownded up the river an' ice don"t know who he wuz. THE OLD HOME. I SAW the dear old place, Eugene, The home we used to know When life was new and cares were few So many years ago ; The old familiar house, ah me — The same old tree near by In whose cool shade we romped and played My brother— you and I. The little laughing, babbling brook. Where dwelt the speckled trout, Is running still adown the hill And winding in and out Across the verdant pasture field, And through the shady glen— With music sweet it seemed to greet The boy returned again. The fruit trees growing near the well With pears and apples hung. Gave me a treat, oh, full as sweet As when we both were young ; The time worn weather beaten post Where you once carved your name. Like some old guard before the yard Is standing just the same. The grape vine arbor lane, Eugene, Where you and I once played With joy serene — is just as green And deep in leafy shade. The honeysuckle bushes too Wear just as bright a dress As ever shown from any throne Or robed a fair princess. The happy birds were singing, oil Just as they used to sing When all the earth was full of mirth, And all the year was spring ; When sweet content and happiness Claimed childhood as their own, And grief and care and deep despair Were then to us unknown. I drank from out the bubbling spring. Down by the willow tree, Where oft we quaffed the cooling draught In childish ecstasy; But when I knelt to drink, I saw A face, how changed!— in truth— A gray haired man revealed the span Between old age and youth. Ah me, how full our cup would be If in our life's decline. One hour of youth and joy and truth And hope were yours and mine. 'Twould be the dearest happiness That our old age could know To feel to-night the keen delight Of fifty years ago. OUT AT DUNLAPS STATION. AKES a fellow kind 'er blue walkin' tlirougli :®i. ther place- Never see a liappy smile on a single face ; All the joy an' pleasure of other days is dead ; All the hope an' pluk an' grit an' energy is fled ; Dreams of better days ahead, free from pain an' care, Long ago have vanished like bubbles in the air. Those poor souls an't livin' — jest exist from day to day- Out at Dunlaps Station, where the paupers stay. "They're to blame for bein' there?" Mebbe not, my friend ; Troubles sometime chase a man way up to the end. Fortune an't distributed in an equal way, Some are sick an' poor in youth an' poorer when they're gray ; Others allers have their health an' never strike a bog An' Fortune comes to them as slick as fallin' off a log. * Who's to blame for all the woes it's pretty hard to say, Out at Dunlaps Station, where the paupers stay. — 11 — No man knows just alius how misfortunes come about ; Lots of men have lost their grip in helpin' oth- ers out. Others pray for God's own poor, all penitent an' meek, An' squeeze a piece of money till you hear the eag-le shriek. 'Taint no wonder they get rich an' keep away from debt, Grabbin' everything in sight an' keepin' all they get. Eather than be built like that, I'd jest start out today An' go to Dunlaps Station, where the paupers stay. The world is tight in' shy of 'em an' leavin' 'em alone ; Ther's no one takes much notice of a pauper's sob an' moan ; They've lost their independence an' they have no guidin' star. An' who's a-goin' to study what a pauper's f eel- in's are ? But there's a recompense for them that's equal to the best— The world can't put a price upon a sweet eter- nal rest, An' sleep '11 come to them some time an' clear the clouds away — Out at Dunlaps Station, where the paupers stay. — 12 — RECESSIONAL. [After Kipling.] f^OD of our Fathers, whose decree vl Sweeps emperors from high estate. Whose wisdom pilots destiny, Whose awful might determines fate- Lord God of Hosts, desert us not— We have forgot— we have forgot. Oppressed Armenia prays relief— Sore stricken Greece appeals in vain, While India's millions nurse their grief With pangs of sharp starvation's pain. Lord God of Hosts, desert us not — We have forgot— we have forgot. How often, oh, how often. Lord, When Britons bravely, blindly fought The rifle and the keen edged sword Usurped the charity He taught— Lord God of Hosts, desert us not— We have forgot— we have forgot. God of our Fathers, in our hearts Instill that christian love of old— Let all the joy that love imparts Drive out the lust for power and gold- Lord God of Hosts, desert us not— We have forgot — we have forgot. Where mighty navies ride the seas— Where serried columns guard the shore- We pray Tliee, Lord, on bended knees Let peace control forevermore. Teach all the world to sheathe the sword- Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord. — 14 A STRAIN OF MUSIC, IWUZ sett in' by my winder all alone one Sunday nigiit, , When the bells had quit their ringin' an' the moon wuz shinin' bright, An' I felt a little lonesome till ther' sudden come along The sweetest strain o' music from an old fa- miliar song. They wa'n'tno ordinary notes— they seemed ter throb and swell With a different kind o' feelin' then a pen could ever tell ; They seemed ter lift me up an' take me back through many years Of pleasure an' of happiness, of misery an' tears. I saw the dear old places thet my childhood used ter know, Where the sweet arbutus an' the tender water- cresses grow, Where the crystal water bubbles out o' springs so bright and clear Thet a drink of it 'ud brace yei quicker 'n any wine or beer. I saw the happy faces that I cherished in my youth. When life wuz full o' happiness, an' love, an' hope, an' truth. An' they seemed ter smile upon me ez they used ter long ago When the future seemed so distant an' the present seemed so slow. We sang again in chorus the old song we used ter sing, An' we pushed an' pulled each other in the twisted grape-vine swing, An' we went into the orchard where the great big pippins hung, An' we dropped 'em ez we used ter do v/hen they an' I wuz young. They seemed ter cheer me up again an' sta,rt me on the way Thet I've traveled since I left 'em down until the present day ; An' then we separated an' each took a different lane. But I somehow kinder thought thet mine 'ud strike the richest vein. An' ez I traveled on I saw the chances thet I lost. An' a thousand different slips for which the future paid the cost. An' I thought ef I could see the future ez I see the past Thet I'd make a different showin' an' a record thet 'ud last. — 16 — Now all those friends I cherished so are scat- tered far an' wide- Jest a few, I hear, are livin', but the better part hez died. Yet I allers see ther' faces in a happy, joyous throng When I hear a strain o' music from thet old familiar song. — 17 — TRUE LOVE THAT NEVER DIES. JI, give to me the honest heart Where truest love abides, And all the joy it can impart Whatever fate betides. No other blessing so divine Within our being lies— Oh, let this happiness be mine — True love that never dies, Oh, tell me not of priceless gems That brilliant lustre shed ; Oh, tell me not of diadems That grace a royal head ; No jewel ever held control Or gladdened beaming eyes Like that enchantment of the soul- True love that never dies. THE RIVER STYX. '* TJTE'RE all born free an' equal," Is a pretty W little speech, An' quite a warmin' sentiment for socialists to preach; But be it false or be it true— however it may be- lt don't take long afore we lose that born equality. For some 'r rich an' some 'r poor; some coarse an' some 'r fine. An' custom forces us, you know, to draw the social line; But there's a time when poverty an' wealth'll hev' to mix- There ain't no graded ferryboats upon the Kiver Styx. The Czar of all the Russias with an iron rod controls The earthly destiny of full a hundred million souls; For many thousan' miles aroun' his power is complete. An' rich an' poor, at his command, must wor- ship at his feet. — 19 — An' when his majesty desires to see a foreign land, A special train, or man o'war, is ever at his hand; But all his wealth an' influence an' diplomatic tricks Won't put a special ferryboat upon the Eiver Styx. I! Most any one that's ever been away upon a trip Will l^now how quick a porter moves if he can get a "tip," He'll scrape aroun' an' bow, an' smile, an' somehow when he's done Your sleepin' berth is some 'at better than the av'rage run. But there's this consolation to the countless millions who Can never feel, but only see the wonders wealth'll do— Ther' ain't no weak officials that a piece of gold '11 fix A-workin on the ferryboat that runs across the Styx. Most every one has got a greed for money more or less— A dollar's alius had its weight— an' alius will, I guess ; — 20 — It's pretty late to try to change the character of men — So let things be unequal here, as they hev alius been, For there's a power that is bound to level everything An" place a ragged pauper on an equal with a king; An' there's a time when poverty and wealth'll hev to mix. An' that's upon the ferryboat that runs across the Styx. — 21 — GENTLEMAN JIM. GENTLEMAN JIM was an athlete bold, An athlete bold was he ; He called for his pen and a bottle of ink, And shouted loud in glee. Then he dashed him off to Gentleman Bob A bristling-, tierce defl ; Then settled himself in his easy chair. And he winked his other eye. " I can lick the world,*' said Gentleman Jim, In his Lindley Murray way ; " I can punch the head off Gentleman Bob, " Or I'll eat a bale of hay," Tlien he murmured low, did Gentleman Jim, " I'm an eminent pugilist, " For my paper and pen and my gory ink "Are mightier than my list.'* ■22- CHRISTIANA LAKE, T@ ET others sing of famous lakes and pretty IJ/ babblin' brooks— Of stylish seaside summer homes an' arti- iicial nooks — These alius have their charm for some, but I ain't much on style — I like to take it in the rough and see ole nature smile, Where waters are as clear as ever bubbled out 0' spring, An' scenery would almost make a tongue-tied linnet sing ; Oh, when vacation comes again, I'll pack my kit an' take My summer recreation out at Christiana Lake. The black bass an' the blue gills an' the straw bass— say, yer eyes Would bulge right out to see the way they jump up after flies ; An' if 3^ou understand the art that Isaak Wal- ton taught You needn't be ashamed to show the people what you caught ; For if you ain't born tired an' you want to catch some fish, Jest take yer boat an' pole an' bait an' gratify yer wish — Oh, when the buds are bursting an' the spring begins to break, I'll slide right up an' have a fish at Christiana Lake. - 23 — You talk about your sunsets— say, they have 'em pretty fah' In other places, but I think they never quite compare With those at Christiana Lake— the bright il- lumined skies— They somehov^ make a feller think of heavn'ly paradise. There's jest a flood of red an' blue an' gold an' silver light, That seems to try an' check the march of swift advancin' night — Old nature's richly colored paint could never, never make A grander sunset than j^ou see at Christiana Lake. The chirpin' of the robins an' the bluebirds in the trees, Mingles with the restful music of the mur- murin', hummin' bees ; An' the swishin' waters singin' 'round the rushes near the shore Make you think yer cup o' happiness is full an' flowin' o'er ; For the hustlin', bustlin' city seems a thousan' miles away, Ah' you have the change yer lookin' for as long as you can stay. Oh, better 'n all the medicine that I could ever take Is a week or two a-fishin' out at Christiana Lake. ' ^ y^^ Oh, the pleasure without measure that is waitin' for me when Tlie wliippoorwills an' bobolinks an' thrushes come again, An' the air is full of joy an' song, an' every- thing is green, An' nature's brightest handiwork on every side is seen ; Then I'll jest live in the sunshine an' drink in the country air, An' I'll lay aside all worry an' forget each carkin' care. An' I'll gather up my tackle an' I'll make a bee-line break For the bass that's waitin' for me out at Chris- tiana Lake. ORGAN GRINDER'S SONG. IGRINDA, grincla, all de'day, Do my vera besta ; I don't get vera mucha pay, Monka he no resta ; And lika lotta people, I Travel with my monka, And up and dov/n the street we try Gather In a plunka. [To Monkey] I give you maccaronna, when Make a little mona ; I'll get banan and peanuts,'_then Have a lotta f unna : And when we getta mona heap Have de besta tima We'll eat and drink and play and sleep In Italia's clima. Organ grinda got to worka Maka people giva Got to worka lika Turka If he wanta liva; Play de operatic tuna Maka a greata hitta ; Driva people almost luna Pay to make me quitta. -28- NELLIE DALE. Q^O you never liee'rd of ]S"ellie Dale? B'gosh V®) that's mighty strange— She used to teach the districk school down here at Devil's Range; She just can't walk around at all— not even with a crutch — She hain't got any feet you see. What— born that way? Not much! You'd like to hear her story, hey? Well this is how it goes : 'Tw^as along some time in March, I think, when everything was froze, When a bitin' blizzard come along an' drifted the snow about. An' caught poor Nellie an' all the kids afore the school let out. Well, the school house wasn't blizzard-proof, ef / it was put up to stay, y An' the nearest place was a farm house, a half / a mile away. / But Nellie was grit— yer bet she was— an' she didn't set down an' cry. For she knew she had to reach that house, or she and the kids 'ud die. So she bundled 'em all up good an warm, in the quickest kind o' style, An' made 'email take hold o' hands, an' line up single file ; — 27 — Then she started down the prairie road^ an' she had 'em all in tow, Bracin' 'em up with words o' cheer an' steerin' 'em through the snow. But it wasn't the easiest sort o' w^ork ; the kids 'ud stick in a drift, An' Nellie 'ud have to hustle back "an kinder give 'em a lift ; An' the wind was awful bltin" cold, an' at times it seemed almost As tho' poor IN'ellie and all the rest 'ud have to give up the ghost. But she was just the grittiest girl I ever run across t. An' she plowed along till she reached the house, an' nary a kid was lost. I^ot a single one was even nipped, tho' how they escaped God knows, But ]N"ellie, poor girl, she caught it hard ; both of her legs were froze. Well, it run along a couple of days afore a doc- tor come, An' he saw in a minute tliere wan't much hope, an' things looked mighty glum; But he took the only chance there was, and that wan't very bright — He ampitated both her feet— an' JS'ellie come out all right. We clone the best we could for her, an' we done it quick, you bet — We got her a pair of wooden feet, but she hasn't tried 'em yet. But if ever for such an act of grit a just reward is given, Yer bet yer life there's a better pair awaitin' her in heaven. T THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. HE north wind wafts a greeting "God's will on earth was done," And the echo sings on the south wind's wings "The Blue and the Gray are one." One flag m}^ southern brother — One flag for you and me— Beyond compare— and everywhere The emblem of the free. The dear old flag we honor That our forefathers knew— The star of light — the friend of right — The red, the white, the blue. So let the old, old story Lie buried in the past. For the ties that bind a nations kind Are strong and true and fast. Then bring the brightest garlands And deck the graves of all — For the Blue and the Gray are one for aye, What ever may befall. THE OLD ST. JO. OH, the old St. Jo— Oh, the dancing, glancing waters— how they ripple as they flow. Softly singing liquid symphonies far sweeter to my ear Than the melody of Mozart or the songs of Meyerbeer. How the summer sunlight shimmers on its bright reflecting breast, As it rolls along forever in a spirit of unrest. Oh, the old St. Jo— Oh, the wealth of blooming bushes and of wil- lows bending low, And the pretty, perfect paradise, the island set in green. With its verdant shadows waving in the water's silver sheen ; And the graceful swallows twittering and sail- ing light and free. Dipping down to kiss the wavelets as they dance away in glee. Oh the old St. Jo— Oh, the shady swimming bayou where the boys were wont to go— Oh, the happiness of childhood, oh, the joy we held most dear. The pleasure of disporting in the waters bright and clear. Forgetfulness may claim all else, but time can never dim The memory of a boy's delight— a good old- fashioned swim. Oh, the old St. Jo— When Luna's beaming beauty sheds a soft re- fulgent glow; Oh, the music of the waters as they improvise a trill In a running obligato to the plaintive whippoor- will ; And the gentle zephyrs humming through the waving willow trees — How they fill the soul with echoes of a hundred harmonies. Oh, the old St. Jo- Like the future generations that are yet to come and go, Forever and forever shall its waters flow away In a never-failing current as they flow along today. And lovers of old nature's brightest work shall learn to know The many matchless beauties of the old St. Jo. O HAPPY YOUTH, HAPPY^ youth, when hearts are beating With rapturous joy and love divine, Wlien days are short and nights are fleeting And warm affections intertwine ; When hope looks forward to the morrow And stars of promise brightly beam — O joj^ous time, when care and sorrow Evanish like a passing dream. O sweetest j^outh, when life is teeming With happiness and joy complete. When faith is strong and hope is beaming. And lovers youthful lovers greet ; O joyous time of health and pleasure When rays of hope are shining bright — Sweet memory's diadems to treasure — O halcyon days of keen delight. 3S — EASTER. JJJ AVE courage, men, il Tho' Christ is dead, For the Lord has said Me shall rise again. ' Tis Easter time And the music tells In the happy chime Of a thousand bells, That Christ the Lord again has risen. LIFE IS BUT A ROUND OF PLEASURE. T® IFE is but a round of pleasure, JL/ Each can have a well filled measure If he only wills that way ; Then let's drive away grim sorrow. And let others trouble borrow Worry not about tomorrow, But well think about today. Chorus. Drink, Drink, Drink and well be merry, Clink, Clink, Clink the time away, Drink, Drink, Drink the sparkling- sherry, Think not of the morrow but about today. Happiness is ours to store it If we only labor for it With an honest, true intent ; Then we'll start the blues a flying- Substituting- mirth for crying, Every hour and minute trying? Witli our lot to be content. 35 AT BLENHEIM CASTLE. HO ! all Americans arise and sliout witli unanimity- Dispatches tell us something that ap- proaches grand sublimity ; The noble Prince of Wales, the perfect paragon of purity, Has raised our Consuelo from a level of obscur- ity. Tho' Consuelo's fame is now assured of perpe- tuity, The noble duke can tremble, for his Vanderbilt annuity, Though measured only by a most magnificent immensity, May not withstand the noble prince's borrow- ing propensity. A DREAM OF LIFE. IDEEAMED that from another sphere, With clear discerning eye, I saw the flow of life below That mOA^ed unceasing by, Like some vast river sweeping out Into a boundless sea It hurried through the world into Unknown eternity. I saw the blush of innocence Upon a happy face, Where reeking sin had never been, And sorrow left no trace. I happy hours ! O ! golden youth ! What pangs thy memory cost, When deep in tears of after years We value what is lost. 1 saw Temptation's gilded form Along the path of youth, Guerilla-like, unceasing strike Integrity and truth ; Ambition seemed to waver when Discretion fell a prey To Passion's guiles and luring smiles That sweep success away. -37 — I saw a gambler luring on The victim of his art, While there would rise before his eyes A brother's bleeding heart ; I saw the novice, answering The baser passion's call, In eagerness of sure success. Advance— and lose his all. I saw a thousand brothers stand Upon a thousand rocks, And none agreed the others creed Was strictly orthodox ; A Mussulman in rage decried The Christian's inspired work, While he in turn would madly spurn The Koran of the Turk. A drunken wretch reformed and cried That he was pure and free, And there was none — not even one Was more revered than he : I saw an erring sister fall Upon her knees and pray. But worldly hate had sealed her fate Forever and for aye. A shij) lay rolling helpless on The bosom of the deep : I saw the swell that rose and fell And heard the wild winds sweep : — 38- I saw that ship go down with full A thousand souls therein, And soon the sea appeared to me As if it had not been. I heard the church bells ringing- out A welcome to a birth, And sharp and plain they rang again To swell the wedding mirth : I lieard them toll and seeming say : "Ceased be his weary plod, •^\ brother wight lias said good night. "And gone to meet liis God." 1 saw the countless millions who Were battling with the tide. While grim and gaunt the spectre, Want Was ever at their side ; I saw a millionaire unmoved Deny the starving band, Wliile wealth untold of lioarded gold Invited his command. I saw cupidity and greed In every phase of life. Precipitate unyielding hate And never-ending strife ; I heard the voice of Justice speak In ringing tones, and true : " God's boundless store was given for "The many — not the few." - 39 - I hailed a message as it fell From azure tinted skies, And soon I saw a heavenly law Dissensions harmonize ; Each mortal owned his fellow-man A brother and a peer, And each one tried to swell the tide Of happiness and cheer. The world with purest deeds and thoughts Irradiant did gleam. And here and there, and everywhere Concentment reigned supreme ; Existence seemed in every form Erom pain and sorrow free- When morning broke and I awoke To life's reality. AFTER WINTER COMES THE SPRING. WINTEES whistling winds are here ; Summers sweetest scenes are fled ; Autumns fallen leaves are sere ; Forest iiowers all are dead. Still content— aye, something more, Thoughts of buds and blossoms bring- Thoughts replete with pleasure, for After winter comes the spring. In the trials of your life ; When despair holds potent sway ; When 3'our burdens in the strife Hide ambition's faintest ray ; Let not honest courage wane, But to hope triumphant cling, For, like sunshine after rain, After winter comes the spring. IT MIGHT BE WORSE, I HATE the weepiu' pessimist t)iat"s alius talkin' blue An' paintin' up his troubles with a cemetery hue ; He never sees a rainbow, but he alius sees a cloud, An' tries to throw it over everybody like a shroud ; He pounds away at all he meets an' tries to make "em think That his has been the bitterest of bitter dregs to drink ; He tells 3^ou that his trouble is an overpowrin' curse. An' never stops to reason that it MiRht Be Worse. I like a noble fellow who can play a cheerful part, No matter if a hidden sob is wellin' up his heart, —42- He makes you think a little grit will kinder ease yer woe, An' mebbe when tomorrow comes you"ll stan' a better show ; He'll alius take you by the hand an" soften down yer fears, An' make yer see a ray o' hope a-shinin' through yer tears ; That's the kind o' fellow that can meet with a reverse^ — He can brace himself and say it Might Be Worse. Yer burden may be heavy, but you'll somehow ilnd it true That ther' are others carry in' a bigger load than you ; The world is blue enough, God knows, without yer gettin' down An' cryin' over trouble long afore it comes aroun' ; A faintin' heart was never known to bring a brighter day, An' weepin' an complainin' never drives the clouds away— So dont you advertise yer woe throughout the universe. But keep it to yourself an' say it Might Be Worse. — 48 — If everybody's misery was written on his face, There'd be but little pleasure here among the human race ; The glow o' cheerful happiness "ud fade away and die, An' all the springs o' joy an' mirth 'ud soon be runnin' dry. So don't you grow discouraged, then, if every- thing goes wrong. For if you wait a streak o' joy'll surely come along; Don't keep a-mopin' all the time as mournful as a hearse. But gulp yer trouble down an' say it Might Be Worse. SINCE NELLIE WENT AWAY. THE homestead ain't ez bright an' cheerful ez it used to be, The leaves ain't growin' half so green upon the maple tree ; The brook don't seem ter ripple like it used ter, down the hill— The bobolinks appear ter hev a some'at sadder trill; The wavin' corn hez lost its gold, the sunshine ain't so bright, The day is growin' shorter jest ter make a longer night ; There's some thin' gnawin' at my heart I guess hez come ter stay — The world ain't been the same ter me since Nellie went away. The old piano over there I gave her when a bride- It ain't been played upon but once since she took sick an' died, An' then a neighbor's girl come in an' struck up "Old Black Joe" An' " When the Swallows Homeward Fly," an' somehow, don't you know. It almos' made me crazy wild with angiiisli an' dispair— I saw ber sittin' at the keys, but knew she wasn't there ; An' that is why I never want ter hear the old thing play— The music don't sound natural since Nellie went awav. The parson tells me every man hez got ter hev his woe — His argument is good, perhaps, for he had orter know — But then it's hard for every one ter allers see the right In turnin' pleasure into pain an' sunshine into night ; 1 guess it's all included in the Maker's hidden plan- It takes a heap o' grief an' woe ter temper up a man. 1 sympathize with any fellow when I hear him say The world don't seem the same ter him since some one went away. The Scripture says that in His own sweet way, If we but wait. The Lord '11 take our burdens an' set crooked matters straight ; An' there's a hope that all the grief an aching heart can hold Will be offset by happiness a hundred million fold, When we hev reached the end o- life's eventful voyage at last An' all our pain an' misery is buried in the past. An' so I'm lookin' for'ard to the dawn in' of a day When mebbe it won't seem so long- since Nellie went away. YOU CANT PLEASE EVERY ONE. 5*|N] To do the best you can- Perfection never fell within The heritage of man. Upon integrity rely In labors once begun, The hypercritical clef y— You can't please every one. Invidious is the task of him In public life installed ; His trivial faults are magnified, His buried deeds recalled ; Though honest efforts end his course, In honesty begun. He clearly realizes that He didn't please CA'ery one. Then labor conscientiously To do your very best. And, that you try to fill your sphere, Let honest deeds attest- So that when in declining years, You view your labors done, Eeproach can not be yours because Y^ou didn't please every one. 48 A FRENCH IDYL. GOOD day, Mrs. Murphy; Oi jist saw ould Flynn, And he towled me yez had an addition loist night ; So Oi sez to mesir : " Mrs. Whalan, step in An see phat a darlint hez brought 'em de- hght." Arrah, now, can Oi howld liim— the illegant boy! Faix, he's jest loike his fatlier, the Httle spalpeen ! But, Oi say, Mrs. Murphy, exuberant joy Has given me thirst for a dhrop av poteen. Phat! not going to treat? Yez kin niver do that! Not a dhrop av poteen, because wages is shmall ? Here, take your cadaverous, bull-headed brat- Sure, he don't look a bit loike his father at all! -49 — SMOKY RUN. IT was raining hard when the stranger came Through the tavern door at Smoky Eun; He acted sick, an' we kind'er thought That mebbe his strength was overdone. We tried to draw him into a talk, But it wan't no use— he bowed his head In his trembling hands, an' only cried, "She'd be better dead— oh better dead." For over a week he hung around In a sort of a melancholy way, Watchin' the stages come an' go. But never havin' a word to say. Well, Sunday noon of the second week. Since he come to stay at vSmoky Kun, We miners set on the tavern porch Try in' to hide from the blazin' sun- When a man and a woman come along On a couple of bronchos side by side— They stopped at the door an' asked the road. Then traveled away toward Eocky Slide. It wan't two minutes hed passed us by When the stranger come with a jump an' bound Thro' the tavern door and started off Eight after the pair like a Eussian hound. Well, that was enough— we miners knew That something was wrong an' trouble was near, So we got in line an' hustled away Down the mountain road like a lot of deer. We'd gone a mile— to the bend in the pass, Where the roadway curves at Deep Eavine, When just as we turned there come to view The toughest thing I have ever seen— The woman lay at the stranger's feet An' her mate lay stretched beside her dead With an empty revolver near his head — '• Killed himself," so the stranger said. '- There ain't much room for doubt," we cried, "But tell us the reason he took his life ? " The stranger lifted the woman up An' moaned, " God pity my faithless wife." He pressed her to him an' stroked her face An' cried : "Oh, God, she'd be better dead." " Stranger, who is this man ? " we asked, "My youngest brother," was all he said. Well that was enough, we miners knew That we hadn't no voice in a family row. So we left them alone in the mountain pass To settle their trouble— God knows how. THE WAKARUSA BAND. YOU talk about your Brooks's Band, and Boyer at his best— An' Thomas's big orchestry, an' Sousa an' the rest— Their hifalutin' music, I suppose, is good enough For city folks who educate on operatic stuff ; But when you w^ant to reach the heart and make it laugh an' sob. An' be in touch with nature like, and make it thrill an' throb With melody an' music that a child can under- stand. You ought to hear a concert by the Wakarusa Band. They ain't up on concertos an' cantatas an' the like- But you can't beat 'emgrindin' out a quickstep on the pike ; An' when they play "Old Nellie Gray" an' " Where the Daisies Grow," My memory goes slidin' back to the long, long ago; An' music that'll work like that an' strike your very soul, An' flood you full of memories an' all your past unroll- That kind of music play in' fills its highest mission and That's why I like to listen to the W^akarusa Band. I saw the great directors in Chicago at the Fair, With all their fine musicianers annihilatin' air: A drum 'd bang, a horn 'd blat, a clarinet 'd shriek— An' ef you call that music, say, you ought to hear me speak ; I want the kind of music that'l melt into the heart— I wouldn't give a picayune for all their classic art ; Let educated critics gulp it down an' call it grand-— But I'll just sit an' listen to tlie Wakarusa Band. 53- TOAST TO THE LADIES, Vv'HO has not experienced the thrill of joy divine That permeates tlie soul like some intox- icating wine, Tliat deep exquisite flood of bliss that tills the throbbing heart That only some true honest love of woman can impart; That fount of hope and joy and life, that some- thing undefined That makes tlie timid strong and brave, the stern and cruel kind; That seems to draw forever inspiration from above, That boon of rich and poor alike, that priceless treasure, love ? Your mind's eye ne'er could picture, nor Ra- phael e"er portray A scene where pure devotion exercised com- pleter sway, Where messengers of peace and love in appro- bation smiled, Tlian that of some fond mother at the cradle of her child ; The weary nights of vigil, tlie trials of the day Are but a task of happiness, they seem to fade away Before tlie gentle influence of that fond mother's love Like threatening clouds dissolve before the fierce heat from above. Go with me to the battle tielcl where death is in control And mark the dying of the day with some poor weary soul, A ministering angel softly, gently passes by, There's courage in her bearing, there's pity in her eye. She has no thirst for glory, no vain desire for pelf, She sacrifices all she has, her home, her health , herself. Her very life she offers up like Him who led the way- God bless the Red Cross Angels forever and for aye. Sing not to me of valiant deeds of some brave knights of old, I sing to you of braver deeds a hundred thous- and fold; Of some sweet bonnie bright-eyed lass whose heavii inspired life Is consecraced to a toil of poverty and strife. Where poor humanity is weak with misery and sin, Where happiness and cheerfulness and hope have never been; Mock not the young Salvationist, for even unto death She follows in the footsteps of Him of Nazereth. Perchance some Florence Nightingale within this banquet hall Is waiting with a willing heart for duty's trum- pet call; God bless her, aye, a thousand times if any such there be, Her life will sooth the troubled waves upon the human sea, Wliere avarice unceasingly replenishes its store And princes blind cupidity throws nations into war; God bless her if her influence will bring a sweet surcease Of liuman slaugiiter and insure an everlasting peace. But this peculiar strain my friends, my lady friends, I know To place and audience is not exactly apropos; I toast your health, fair ladies, and may many banquets see Your gracious presence with us in the years that are to be, ^lay all your friendships tried and true be bound by stronger ties. May all the future be to you as clear as summer skies; May fondest recollection shed its beaming soothing light When memory recalls to j^ou the banquet of tonight. '*WHIRRUL IT." 11^ sixty-three, when drafting was in vogue, And men of tliirty (?) ceased to dye their hair, When many an honest man (and many a rogue) A military suit was forced to wear. Tom Flynn, with thumping heart and pallid face, Stood with the crowd upon the court-house floor, Crossing himself, and asking Heavenly grace To save him from the horrors of a war. Fresh from the drafting wheel each chosen name Was loudly shouted thro' the spacious hall; Another forced to light sedition's flame I Another doomed to face the rebel ball ! Anxious the while, poor Flj^nn with listening ear (And something different to a warrior's mien) Heard the clerk read in thunder tones and clear The old familiar name of "Mike Dineen." Swiftly toward the wheel he wildly ran, Thinking his name the next would surely be, And yelled: "O, whirrul itiwhirrul it! whirrul it man I Ochonel That fellow lives nixt door to me!" OUR BOYS IN BLUE. HEEE'S to the honest soldier lads, Here's to the hearts so true ; Here's to the country's proudest hope. Here's to the boys in blue, Onward ever their battle cry, Never a one to lag ; Ever ready to do and die Under their nation's flag. Heres to the honest soldier lads, Hearts as true as steel ; Human battlements brave and ttrm Guarding their country's we-dl ; Sweeping liberty's foes aside, Planting a standard new. Freedom's champions every one. Here's to the boys in blue. God be with our soldier lads Till peace floods forth her light, And nerve their souls with courage true In the cause of human right. Give cheer to a mother's anxious heart, And cheer to a sweetheart's too ; God grant them all a safe return, Our loyal boys in blue. 58 LULLABY, FEACE be unto thee— hush my child- Heaven's httle one undefilecl ; Nestle close to your mother's breast, Sail away to the land of rest : Sweetest blessing from paradise- Rest my little one ; close your eyes ; Angels ever their vigils keep- Sleep, my precious, my baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep ; Mother dear will hold thee ; ' Sleep, baby, sleep ; Mother's arms enfold thee. Sleep, my little one, sleep, my precious one — Sleep, baby, sleep. Peace be unto thee, gift divine ; Sweet and innocent baby mine. Never a royal diadem Held so pure a priceless gem. All the world is as naught to me — Mother's baby— compared to thee. Sweetest blessing from paradise — Rest, my little one ; close your eyes. 59 • SANTIAGO. FULL fierce and fast the battle raged— the very jaws of hell Were opened wide and pouring out a storm of shot and shell ; The scorching tropic sun beat down its streams of molten fire Until it seemed that fate had made a giant funeral pyre. But onward, onward, inch by inch they moA^'d with courage true Like some vast living wall of might— the loj^al boys in blue. No murmuring, no faltering, and when the day w^as done- Hurrah ! hurrah!— a thousand times— the vic- tory was won. For freedom and humanity, equality and right We'll ne'er forget the heroes bold who battled in that fight ; For all that independence loves— for all we hold most dear Forever and forever shall the world their names revere ; On monuments enduring fast, as with a burn- ing pen Let history recount their sacrifice for fellow men; And let a grateful nation drop a tear in mem- ory's urn For all those loj^al boys in blue who never will return. — eo — THE PRIVATES AND THE CREW. GIVE honor to the gallant Schley to whom all honors are, And sing the praises of heroic Hobson near and far : Shout loud huzzas of gratitude for Dewey brave and true- But don't forget our heroes bold— the privates and the crew. For them no hope of station high where grate- ful plaudits sound— For them no honored place on I'ame's eternal camping ground ; A plain and simple duty theirs— defying shot and shell — Theirs but the thought of having done that simple duty well. The private, sailor and marine, when all is said and done — The engineer and fireman— are heroes every one; For them no hope of lasting names on an in> mortal roll — Their only inspiration an undying valor's soul. Let honest merit meet reward in high or low estate ; Let Justice ever point the way where praise and g^lory wait- So while we give a thousand cheers for all the leaders true, We'll not forget our heroes bold— the privates and the crew. FROG QUARTET. THE CROAKER. BULL frog croaked in a lonely marsh On a dark and dismal night. He had a cold and his voice was harsh, But he croaked with all his might. And he woke the birds and he woke the bees Slumbering quietly in the trees ; And the things that fly and the things that creep Prayed in vain for a wink of sleep, But the frog, he kept on croaking. CHORUS. Jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum. On the midnight ozone rang; Jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum, jug a rum. Was the song that bull frog sang. Is^ow a lovely pelican flying along On that dark and dismal night, Pricked up his ears when he heard that song, And he hurried him in his flight ; Then he halted him quick with a sudden jerk Where the croaker was doing his solo work. And he settled himself on the end of a log, And he didn't do a thing to that foolish f rog— For the frog did no more croaking. There's a moral I think that all can see In the story I've brought out. And all the facts I swear to be Above the slightest doubt. The fellow who croaks with a long drawn face In the battle of life is out of place. If a pelican happens to come his way, He'll soon discover it doesn't pay To be forever croaking. 64-- THE CLOCK. I HEARD the old clock ticking near my open chamber door In a soft and mellow voice-like tone I never heard before; In rythm sweet indelibly it marked upon my mind A truth that old eternity can never leave be- hind — This truth, as old as Father Time, that for a thousand years Has fallen on a myriad of dull, unheeding ears: "Whether it be of sunshine, or whether it be of rain, "The hour that is passing by will never come again." And a hurried rush of vain regrets came o'er me thick and fast As the old clock resurected the dead and bur- ied past, For in the panorama that my flitting fancy made Procrastination, like a fiend, was vividly por- trayed; And springing from my restless couch I cried: "O Time, delay?" But the old clock seemed to answer: "Tomor- row is today— "Whether it be of happiness or whether it be of pain, "The hour that is passing by will never come again." -65— But ambition swelled within me as the future 'rose to view Yfith munificent reward for perseverance strong and true; And with grim determination I resolved that every day Should record a labor well performed— and the old clock seemed to say: "Dwell with the resolution, and hold it strong and fast, "Till the life that is gliding from you lies buried in the past; "For whether it mark a credit, or whether it brand a stain, "The hour that is passing by will never come again." -88- THE TYPICAL TRAMP. I'M a typical tramp, the people say In an off-hand sort of a careless way ; An' I guess they're right— but say, dy'e know That I've got a heart if it doesn't show? I ain't been like this all my life On the under side of care and strife ; I used to have ambition, and A good supply of grit and sand. But fate's peculiar— some '11 run Along the light of the golden sun, And others, no matter how true and proud Are alwaj^s somehow under a cloud. Well, I'm not going to wear you out With a long drawn history about Myself, but say, perhaps you'll wait Till 5'ou hear the typical tramp relate A few of the things that put him where He is today. She was young and fair— My wife, I mean, and God knows I'd Ha' sacrificed myself and died For her and the little baby, he Bright and chipper as he could be. Well I, when all is said and done Was about the same as the common run ; And she, my wife I mean, why she Seemed to swear by the kid and me. Week in and out I worked away And I never lost a single day In three long years, and tried to do My honest duty through and through; And I was the happiest man on earth— — 67 — Life was flowing with joy and mirth ; My hope was there without alloy In my loving wife and my baby boy. But things was going too smooth, I guess- Too much pleasure and happiness; Too much home-like harmony For an ordinary man like me. Things had to change, as they sometimes will- I quit my work at the rolling mill One summer night, and drew my pay- Seems like it was yesterday— And I went to the store and bought a dress— A sort of a gingham one, I guess— I don't remember— I never could— I knew she^d think it was just as good As a silk or satin. And then I went Straight to my cottage home hell bent. Going to surprise my wife, you know — And I wanted to hear the baby crow ; And I wanted, O well, I wanted to be In the only place in the world for me. Well it wasn't long till I struck the door Of my cottage home— there's not much more To tell about— she wasn't there— And the baby was gone— on a kitchen chair I found this paper, and God ! if you Have never had a knife run through Your very heart you can never know The force of the pain and grief and blow : " Dear Tom," she wrote, "I've gone away " To never come back— don't lose a day " Trying to find me— I always knew — 68—, "I never was good enougli for you." Well that was all— I discovered soon That early along in the afternoon A fellow I counted my warmest friend Had brought my hopes to a bitter end ; Like a poisonous snake in a sneaky way He had stolen my baby and wife away. ****** Four years I've drunk from sorrow's cup With one ambition to hold me up— A hope that sometime, in some place, I'll meet that fellow face to face. And it won't take very long, you bet For me to partly pay the debt I owe him. Now I guess I've done— My strain's too blue for the average run, And the world ain't got no use today For a tramp's emotions anyway. — 69— i 't AS WE ARE. OUR social status now we view with some- thing like tranquility, For finally we have attained alliance with nobility; The old world's crumbling castles and dilapi- dated terraces Are being put in shape again by our ambitious heiresses; They marry condescending dukes whose pedi- grees will antidate The time of antiquated Noah who piloted the ship of state— And pedigree is all they've got— but surely you will all agree That this is just exactly right in all high toned society. There's many a social gathering we call a mis- sionary tea That ever has productive been of true un- bounded harmony — Where tender hearted ladies meet to sup their fragrant Oolong, and Discuss the unbelievers in some distant, wooly foreign land. They gather contributions and they ship out every cent they can To China's suffering heathen and the great un- washed of Hindoostan— Which eminently proper is— I never entertain a doubt For we have no domestic needy hottentots to think about. -70 — Who'er says politicians are dishonest gabbles gammon, he Has never read the history of our beloved Tam- many, For its officials who attain a most surprising altitude To loyalty and honesty are firmly and forever glued. And in the old United States, e'er since the government began There's no exception to the rule— the office always seeks the man; And that is why election day when we select a president You never see the slightest sign of any money being spent. Society is managed in a marvelously perfect way, And fashion's devotees admit that everything is recherche— In fact the swim of higher life could never, never, never yield More satisfactory results if chaperoned by Chesterfield. You never heard Miss So and So relate in edify- ing glee That Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Brown's no better than she ought to be— In fact you hear no gossiping at any of our tete-a-tetes— It strictly is prohibited throughout the whole United States. — 71- I might sing on forever in my quiefc unassum- ing way About the old United States where justice holds a potent sway: Where alltruistic doctors in a field of usefulness abound Who make mistakes— but when they do— they promptly put them under ground; Where lawyer's honest faces beam with floods of concientious light And wreathes of beatific smiles— at their in- herent sense of right- But modesty forbids — besides, to what advan- tage could I sing- When everybody knows that we are perfect quite in everything ? •72- DEWEY'S COMIN' HOME. FEOM Maine to California throughout our mighty land There's somethin' agitatin' us a child could understand — A patriotic sentiment as strong an' warm an' true As ever cheered the heart of man an' thrilled it through and through. 1^0 partisan or race or creed, or low or upper crust Can gather in this feelin' an' control it with a trust; An' pretty soon, from mine pit up to heaven's distant dome, That pent-up feelin' will explode— for Dewey's comin' home. There's never been an Admiral who had a bet- ter way Of takin' up an argument an' settlin' it to stay; For when his side has had its say — his broad- side in a word— The opposition argument is very seldom heard. You never hear him quibble, an' he never hesi- tates. When he is makin' history for the United States. Oh, talk of cheerin' Ceaser once upon a time in Rome! Yf e'll knock that cheerin' galley west— for Dew- ey's comin' home. — 73- He's modest as they make 'em, an' there's no one charges that \ Since he has won his victory he wears a bigger hat. He's had all kinds of trials, an' there's no one ever said That he was ever rattled or he ever lost his head. No wonder that his countrymen will swear that he's about As perfect an American as ever was ground out. So, speed away Olympia, an' churn the briny foam, An' everybody whoop 'er up— for Dewey's comin' home. IT'S BETTER TO BELIEVE. THER' may be logic, truth an' sense an' ar- gument an' wit In everything the infidels hev written on, but it Hez allers seemed uncommon queer an' strange ter me that they Don't ever give a substitute for what they take away. They take away the only balm thet fer a thou- san' years Hez cheered a mother's faintin' heart an' dried a widow's tears: They shet out God's own sunshine thet pene- trates the gloom Thet like a pall hangs over all within a mourn- er's room. They kill the hope thet came to birth when hearts were light an' free. An' children learned to lisp ther' prayers at ther' mother's knee, When all the future seemed as bright as any noonday sky. An' youth, in certainty of heaven, was not afraid to die. -75- I hev a hope that something- on the other side of life Will recompense a fellow for the pain an' care an' strife That this vv^orld starts on double quick to fol- low him an' his. — If there's not something in thet hope it's good to think there is. An' when you fold a pair of hands upon a life- less breast, An' kiss thet sweet cold face again before its laid to rest, It somehow helps a fellow face the flow of sor- row's tide To think he'll meet his dear ones there upon the other side. Ther's some'll joke about the church an' laugh, an' jibe an' jeer, An' jump upon the minister an' say he ain't sincere— But they're the hypocrites themselves fer I hev allers found When troubles strike they somehow like to hev him come around. Ther's hypocrites in churches too— its hard to keep 'em out— They'll steal ther' neighbors blind an' then get up an' pray an' shout, An' weep an' howl when Sunday comes— but be it understood They wouldn't try and counterfeit a thing thet wasn't good. —76 — Supposin' Ingersol is right an' all lie says is true, An' tiler's nothing in the picture tliet the old disciples drew, An' ther's nothin' in communion that'll banish grief an' care. An' ther's nothin' in the churches an' ther's nothin' in the prayer '? — ■ Ain't it better to believe that those you hold most dear an' fond Will be with you forever in a better place be- yond? Ain't it better to send up a prayer with a dying breath? Ain't it better to liev something that removes the sting of death? The Faith may be all a pretty dream as Inger- soll has said- It may be hope is gone forever when a fellow's dead- It may be as he oft declares a most stupendous fake- But I'll continue dreaming on— an' he can stay awake. -77- B. P. O. E ACROSTIC. Born of true parentage — fraternal love — Cver deep mindful of a brother's weal ; fNursing no wrongs, but far and far above— endorsing charity with earnest zeal. Vanity here strikes no responsive theme— Our order calls for manhood true and strong, L#ove of our fellow mortals reigns supreme, Enduring ever like a joyous song. No selfishness obtains within our plan, True friendship ever is exemplified, A blessed, lasting brotherhood of man — Never recording charity denied; Delighting in benevolence unseen. Providing where the world shall know it not, Rejoicing with a satisfaction keen Over an aided brother's bettered lot; True to its chosen sons forever, and Earnestly striving for them to obtain Continuing relief throughout our land That humankind may reach a higher plane; In true fraternal spirit giving deep Vitality to sad misfortune's own; encouraging where grief and sorrov/ weep — 73 — O'er sweet ambitious liope and pleasure flown. Replete with principles of high ideal, Designed to live forever and a day— Embracing questions of our common weal- Results attained to never pass away. Our order cherish — do the best you can — For all its teachings lead you to the right ; Bncourage love— and for your fellow man L*et true fraternal spirit be your light; Keep faithfully its lessons — you shall see SurpPvSsing grandeur of B. P. O. E. •79- MY LITTLE BABY BOY, THEEE'S music in the babbling brook that hurries down the hill! There's music in the robin's song and in the linnet's trill; There's harmony in everything, but nothing has the half Of melody that ripples through my little baby's laugh. His eyes are like the stars at night; his pretty dimpled chin And delicate, soft, chubby hands would grace a cherubin; When he is nestled in my arms the world is full of joy, All centered in that gift divine— my little baby boy. 1^0 monarch ever owned a gem with mine to half compare; No wealth of gold could buy a king a jewel half so fair; Oh, he is all the world to me— content without alloy. And hope and love and happiness— my little baby boy. -80- OUR OWN JACK TAR. THE Englishman's a stayer, the Italian likes a scrap, And you'll never catch a German or a Frenchman in a nap. With due respect to all of them to whom all honors are I call your kind attention to our own Jack Tar. Chorus. He knows no fears When the bo'sn pipes But he gives three cheers For the Stars and Stripes And he stands by his guns with a courage grand For his honor, his flag and his native land. Our navy isn't very old— a hundred years or so— But records count for everything, and we have one to show; Since independence came to us no history can mar The patriotic bearing of our own Jack Tar. In all of the engagements we've been called upon to fight The enemy acknowleged that we entertained 'em right; And ever since those little entertainments near and far They all take off their chapeaus to our own Jack Tar. -81— OLD GLORY. 'ITH Old Glory waving o'er us We our joyous voices raise, And in patriotic chorus We will sing our country's praise. From the old Penobscot river To the far Pacific slope May the stars and stripes forever Fill our hearts with pride and hope. Chorus. Hip, Hip, hurrah for the flag of our nation, Hip, Hip, hurrah for the flag of the free, Wave it on high o'er the whole of creation- Bear it in triumph o'er mountain and sea. Dearest emblem that we cherish Harbinger of hope and light- Not a star shall ever perish While we have a hand to fight. No oppressor shall assail thee While a dear bought freedom reigns, Brave defenders ne'er shall fail thee While a spark of life remains. -82- THE OLD CANE POLE, OH, the old cane pole— how my heart beat high When I used to swing it in the days gone by Where the bending rushes and the long lake grass Furnished hiding places for the hungry bass! When a great big lunker that was tempting fate Telegraphed a message that he had the bait 'Twas a sweet sensation that'd stir the soul— Spattin' in the rushes with an old cane pole. My whole anatomy with laughter thrills To see a rod and reel and the other frills The hifalutin' artist brings into play To snake out bass in a scientific way. He'll look around with a pitying smile At the fellow fishing in the good old style, But in every case I will bet my roll That he won't be in it with the old cane pole. Oh, the old cane pole— there's nothing so fine As to feel a bass tug on a good stout line. For if you've got your nerve and you work it right You are sure to land him in a good square fight; And when you're going home you won't have to guess Where your fish are coming from— you'll have a mess. So let the fancy fisherman cast and troll. But I will spat the rushes with an old cane pole. TALE OF THE TYRO. OH, they thump you and lambaste you, And they jump you and they paste you In an edifying fashion that'll make you pale and wan ; And you'll tumble in a minute That you're nicely, strictly in it When you learn the inner workings of the gentle Khorassan. Then you'll think that something bit you And you'll hnoio that something hit you Like an embryonic cyclone from the wild and wooly west : And with apprehension growing You'll imagine you are going Where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. And they'll think perhaps you oughter Take a bath in Zem Zem water And they'll give you good and plenty for there's none to say you nay ; And you'll want your courage handy In the desert hot and sandy When the camel gets a hump on and you jour- ney on your way. Oh, the unrestricted pleasure j, And enjoyment without measure \ That awaits the poor deluded, unsophisticated ] man : Who in mental weak condition ? Has a lingering suspicion : He'd enjoy the metamorphosis that makes a j Khorassan. ] Oh, the Arabs, how they bless you . { And how gently they caress you 1 With a kindness born of altruism's highest, | truest aim : '\ How they take you with them roaming, i In the morning, in the gloaming— . i And although you lack experience you get ; there just the same. i What a pleasure there is for you— ] What exquisite joy comes o'er you j When you realize the cherished shining pinna- ■ cle is gained ; , When your journey is completed Though you're somewhat overheated i Still you doubt not for a minute you've been nicely entertained When the razzle dazzle's ended I It is always comprehended | That your stock of Arab knowledge has amaz- ! ingly increased ; i Still your physical condition I Might create a dim suspicion ' That you have the same ambition as a gentle- man deceased. | -8^ I Take a twenty and you bet it That you never will forget it The initiation proper and the many funny cracks ; Your unbounded joy will fire you And experience inspire you With a firm belief you got it where the chicken got the ax. But I'll tell you on the level Notwithstanding all the revel Incidental to the doing of a victim good and brown, There is something that will reach you— 'Tis a lesson that will teach you Of the charity that aids a man when lie is broken down. So with all the variegated Joy and pleasure I have stated You can put it down for certain since old his- tory began— There is none among the others Like our band of Arab brothers— And I toast the health and happiness! of ev'ry Khorassan. LEFEBRE. I CAN always sit and listen to the soft and mellow note That in rippling, bubbling music gushes from the linnet's throat ; And I love to hear the chatter of the purling crystal rill As in and out it winds about and hurries down the hill. And I love to hear a singer who with pathos warm and true Can awaken in your memory your childhood scenes anew ; And in honesty of spirit an acknowledgement I own An enthusiastic liking for Lefebre's saxophone. And I will give all honor, too, wherever it is due, And so, my dear Lefebre, I now give the same to you ; To praise with fulsome flattery I surely don't intend. But every one who knows you, you can sched- ule as a friend ; There's a hundred thousand heard you, and a hundred thousand more. And you can multiply the same by more than twenty-four. And still you haven't half enough— an honest man must own— Who sat enraptured hearing your inspiring saxophone. —87— May time deal with you leniently, and may the future bless Your useful years that are to be with peace and happiness ; And may the power you possess— the master's highest art, Remain with you for years and years to glad- den every heart. And now I toast your health, old friend, with sentiment sincere- Long lease of life and happiness and hope and joy and cheer : You've earned this eulogy, my friend, and I would have it known There's only one Lefebre ever played the saxo- phone. ^•ofC, WASHINGTON. j FIEST in war— no task how e'er so great 1 But he accomplished, and his work sur- i vives ;— I He gave us freedom's independent state — j A legacy more precious than our lives. | }. First in peace— his clear unruffled mind i Inspired the infant government with zeal ; I Strong and yet gentle, steadfast and yet kind I He solved the problem of our common weal. ! First in our hearts forever and a day His light shall shine like some refulgent sun — A beacon light to guide us on the way Our own revered, immortal, Washington.