.AsnM^ v^li^^^^i^ii^^^li^^^^i^^^i^^^^^^^^ ^^^ LIBRARY QF CONGRESS. Cliap._...... Copyright No. \^^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Makin' Rhymes and Other Rhymes By Edwin P. Haavorth MAKIN' RHYMES. AND OTHER RHYMES Bound in silk, postpaid, 75 cents PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR ^-^***^^ Su.^'i''^J5!' ^^c^c.^-^^-^. ?VAakin' I^HYJyiES andQTHER TPhYTIES BY EDWIN p. 6:A WORTH Garden City. Mo. EDWIN P. HAWORTH 1900 I'WO COPIES RECEIVED, Library of COfig^atiy Uffla@ of tb« APR 1 6 1900 H«gitt*r of Copyrlgitty 57946 Copyright, 1900 by Edwin P. Hawobth SECOND OOPV. Makin' Rhymes and Other Rhymes There's music in the meted line, There^s music in the mellow rhyine, But in man's heart, far more sublime, Sounds aye an ha7'mony divine. CONTENTS Proem A Gentle Eeproof . . . . 33 An Old Valentine . . . .18 Away Back East in Illynoy . . 22 'Ef I wus Big like Pa is . . . .53 Father's Great Armchair . . 58 HUSH-A-BY, ROCK-A-BY . . . .61 If 1 Were in Love .... 51 List'nin' for Santy . . . .48 Little Blue Violet .... 55 Lullaby of Comet-Land . . .74 Makin' Rhymes 13 Mother's Kiss .28 My Teacher 41 Nig's Master ...... 15 Opinions Tested 69 Papa's Wee Lass 24 Perhaps 47 Precept and Practice . . . .64 The Big Wolf-Drive ... 76 The Cradle- King . . . . . 72 The Fairy-Ball Lullaby . . 26 The Fancy of a Girl . . . . 63 Thk Haymaking-Time ... 78 The Litteratp:uk's Wealth . . 56 The Little Mound .... 70 The Maid in the Moon . . . .43 The Ol' Rag-Man .... 30 The Queer Little Family . . .38 These ]^e\vfanglp:d Chkis'mases . 66 When 1 Get Btg Like Pa . . .36 For the reprint of List'nin" for Santy in this vol- ume, especial thanks is due the courtesy of The Illus- trated Youth and Age. ^'^AKIN' J^HYMES — AND— OTHER RHYMES MAKIN' RHYMES Ff there's anything that suits me Better 'n— anything, I guess- Better 'n hearin' the banjo plingin', Better 'n tellin' tales 'nd singin', Better 'n seein' tlie quails a-wingin' O'er the fiel's— it's rhymes, I guess. If there's anything that suits me, It's a-makin' rhymes, I guess. 14 MAKIN' RHYMES If there's anything that pleases— Not that other things I lil^e less— For a spring-like day in June-time, Or a pleasant hour at noon-time, Or an ev'ning in full-moon-time 'Nd no clouds— it's rhymes, I guess. If there's anything that pleases Me, it's makin' rhymes, I guess. If there's anything I like best, 'Nd that makes me want to bless— Jest bless the whole of God's creation. The good 'nd bad of ev'ry nation — 'Nd makes me feel a sweet elation Inflate my soul— it's rhymes, I guess. If there's anything I like best, It's a-makin' rhymes, I guess. NIG'S MASTER I'm not a very ol' feller, But I think I'm purty big-,— I'm only five years ol', you know, But then I'm goin' on six, an'— Ho! W'y, Nig, you skeert me,— Nig. Wy Nig's my little ol' pug dog. The nicest one I've seed! Thomas Washin'ton Jefferson— My nabur boy— w'y he's got one, But his ol' pug won't lead. An' his ol' pug ain't pug at all. It's black-tan-terrier-fyce,— An' I feed Nig on chicken pie. An' nicest things to eat.— O my! An' his pug lives on mice. 15 16 NIG'S MASTER Thiit or black cat on the woodshed roof Of nights, an' sings so sad— He ketclies mices ever' day,— The mostes' fun to see him play With 'em! When I'm a lad— That's what Gram pa says Tommy is, 'Cause he's purt'near bigger 'n me,— When I'm a lad— you bet, I won't Have no black-terrier-tan— ner don't Want no black cats— not me! Ugh! — Nig, what are j^ou doin' there? W'y, Nig! — Heuh, Nig, come here. O, that's Nig after the ol' black cat. It most skeert me.— An' I wush that Tommy wus som'ers near. Tommy's a great big kodger. He Is mostly big as Pa. He's two, free, 'leven, nine, six feet tall, An' seven years ol'. Ma buys him all Nice things to wear. But, law!— nig's master 17 He ain't ahead of me. 'Cause I— I'm got a little suit With coat an' pants an'— pockets in, Where I can put things like big men,— An' I'm to got some boots! I wush 'at I had galluses. They's mighty nice to wear,— Heap nicer 'n button-holes an' wais',— Do ever'thing— dim' ever'place,— No button-holes to tear. I clim'd up on the shed, one day- Ma made me dance a jig. But I love her — when I'm not bad,— An' runs to kiss her, I'm so glad- There she comes now.— Heuh, Nig! AN OLD VALENTINE A s I ransacked old chests and quaint traveling trunks, And rummaged rare keepsakes of ancient design, With a mingling of feelings, of pleasure and pain, I chanced on an old Valentine. 'Tis a frail little missive and nervously penned By the hand of a lass in her earliest teens; The corners are crumpled, the creamed paper soiled. Till young eyes could scarce read what it means; 18 AN OLD VALENTINE 19 For the writing is effaced by oft-tendered caress, And the imprint of lips and of tear-drops combine To moil the sweet words,— only left on my heart, Since gone from that old Valentine. Many seasons have bloomed into smiles and 'to tears Since the days of that youthful and happy tryst, But well I remember the vow that we sealed As we tiptoed and o'er the gate kissed. And now it returns with redoubling force. As the delicate oder of the sweet eglantine That she pressed and enclosed, after all of these years, Greets my sense from that old Valentine. For the marble-white face, and those lips of pearl, And the rippling hair of a sunset gold. 20 AN OLD VALENTINE And the ringless hand, and the graceful form, Appeal to me now as of old. And I see the gentle, upturned face With its frank blue eyes and its smile, divine. As she blushingly curled her sweet lips and said She would be ^^my old Valentine." But along with the years that have passed since then. And the varying fortunes and failures of life, Comes the proof that the future is not as we plan, But with manifold changes is rife. Now, far beyond the zenith of life, I dwell in this hermitage of mine*, Wliile over the bountiful board of another Presides that old Valentine. AN OLD VALENTINE 21 For we drew apart— though I loved her the while — And she married a man more worthy of her, Who had wealth and refinement and learn- ing, profound, And all that a queen might prefer. Yet I am not bitter, and envy not him The wine of true happiness once "to be mine,"— But out of my solitude rises to God A prayer for that old Valentine. AWAY BACK EAST IN ILLYNOY A WAY back east in Illynoy, Where corn grows tall as apple-trees 'N' punkins big enough for a boy To make a cart of, if he please — Back there in Illynoy, I say, Is where they raised me, as a boy. 'N' now 't I'm old 'n' far away, My mem'ry wanders back each day — Away back east in Illynoy. Away back east in Illynoy, Where rabbits 'n' prairie chickens thrive. It used to fill my heart with joy To go out on a rabbit-drive, 'N' hem 'em in on ev'ry side.— O, how my heart leaped up in joy 22 AWAY BACK EAST IN ILLYNOY 23 To come home with my game-sack tied About my neck 'n' filled— all, pride!— Away back east in Illynoy! Away back east in Illynoy, Where a man can easy earn his bread- Not all this trouble to alloy His pleasures and be-frost his his head!— Away back there I wush, my friend- Beyond these troubles that annoy- That you would lay me, at the end, On any spot that they will lend,— Away back east in Illynoy. PAPA'S WEE LASS \Xf HEN I wake in the morning I hie away To her little trundle-bed, To take a peep At the one asleep, And I steal just a single kiss for the day From her little, curly head. As I come home at noon to take my lunch, 1 search through the whole flower-land. Where lilies blow, And cull, you know, Of the purest and whitest, a dainty bunch For that little, dimpled hand. 24* papa's wee lass 25 And I find on the gate at my little cot With a face so sweet and meek, My pretty girl, With her hair a-curl, And I give her a kiss on her "beauty spot," On her little, rosy cheek. I take her at night on my lap to play, And we romp till she almost goes To sleep. I sing To the pretty thing, "Not a prettier babe in the land," I say, "With her little, puggy nose." Then may never a pain hurt my baby lass,— May she never have to part From the parent breasts. Whereon she rests,— May she ne'er seek the rest of the silent mass For her little, beating heart. THE FAIRY-BALL LULLABY "Prom Peek-a-boo Land I hear a call, Sleep, my Darling One, sleep! Fairies inviting you to their ball. Sleep, my Darling One, sleep! Merry, bright faces with cherry lips. Cheeks as the rosebud, the bee never sips, Angel-like voices from out their toy-ships, Sleep, my Darling One, sleep! Hear the gay echoes of laughter and song, Sleep, my Precious One, sleep! Everyone calls you to join their throng, Sleep, my Precious One, sleep! The sky is their meadow, with daisies be- strown. Skipping and tripping, they each dance • alone, 26 THE FAIRY-BALL LULLABY 27 Each one is wanting, for partner, My Own, Sleep, my Precious One, sleep! Choose you the fairest bright Fairy of all, Sleep, my Angel One, sleep! Haste, on your pretty white wings, to the ball. Sleep, my Angel One, sleep! Dance with the Fairies and sup of their wine. Trip to the measure of music divine,— None other there to compare with Mine,— Sleep, my Angel One, sleep! MOTHER'S KISS TWTy mother alius kissed away My troubles an' my pain. No matter how bad hurt I wus, Ur distressed wus my brain, She'd take me in her lap an' then She'd ask me, "What is this That ails my boy?" an' make me well By givin' me a kiss. One time I had my finger mashed Until the nail comed off; Another time I sprained my wrist By fallin' from the loft; 28 mother's kiss 29 An' lots uv times my heart wus broke Beyond all hope nv bliss; — But mother alius made me well By g-ivin' me a kiss. But now they isn't any cure, For mother's gone away, An' won't come back no more, because She's gone to Heaven, they say. — I feel a lump rise in my throat That hurts me, an' I miss Her,— still she don't come back To cure me with a kiss. THE OL' RAG-MAN HPhe oP rag-man was 'round to-day to see If we had any ol' rags or iron to swap, Or mabe some hens That he'd coop in his pens, Or eggs, or turkeys, or fowls, or geese, Or anything else that would help to in- crease His jolted up, jumbled up load. All stacked up an' piled up as high as a tree On his ol' creaky wagon — 'bout ready to drop- As he went down the country road. The ol' rag-man swaps tins an' pans an' things. For ever'thing you have about the farm — 30 THE OL' KAG-MAN 31 Whether good or whether bad, llavin' worth or never had— It makes no difference to him,— He swaps for ever 'thing— the slim Little criimpledest, crookedest, queer Little hiimpback'dest, crippledest dwarf, that tarings 'Round his tinware to trade — both in sun- shine an' storm — An' is always just brim full of cheer. The ol' rag-man ain't got no hands like mine, An' yet he works— his fingers twisted 'round Into fish-hooks — How funny they looks! — An' yet he works an' handles things, An' cracks liis jokes an' laughs an' sings, An' hurries the fastest he can 32 THE ol' rag-man To earn bread an' butter, that his childern may dine Like otliers, an' not beg. Oil, don't lie astound You!— This good, little, queer ol' rag- man! A GENTLE REPEOOF pOME here, my child, I've a message I want to give you to-day, A message of love and of gentle reproof for your careless actions and way. Sit down on this stool at my feet, dear, and listen while I tell You something of which you have little thought, and ponder on it well. You will not think me unkind, dear, for say- ing this, I'm sure. Though it may seem a little harsh, the motive, I adjure You to look upon as merciful and for your happiness, — 33 34 A GENTLE KEPUOOF For in the years to come your mind will revert to it to bless! My daughter, you have noticed— have you not? — your mother's face, — The worn expression that it wears, wliei-e once was seen no trace Of aug-ht but pleasure: where the smile that used to grace those lips AVas as the beauty of the rose, at which a humming-bird sips. Perhaps a burden that has robbed some beauty from that brow. And added something to the stoop that bends those shoulders now. Has been her daughter's thoughtlessness- nay, do not start, my child I You were innocent of ill intent— by school- girl thoughts beguiled. vShe has loved you as only a mother can and labored early and late, A GENTLE REPROOF 35 That you might keep your soft pahns gloved and delicate form neat. 8he schooled herself in your babyhood to serve you as a slave, — Ah, many's the time she has snatched you, dear, from out the gaping gravel Come daughter, now, do not make me sad for having told you this I— For other years reserve those tears— and give your pa a kiss. Then go and press your mother's lips and, ere the day is over. Help bear the burden she has borne and, mark me, she will look younger! WHEN I GET BIG LIKE PA YKJ hp:n I get big like pa I aim to be a king Er President of these U. S. Er preaclier-man, — like ourn, I guess, Er teacher, er something — ' When I get big. When I get big like pa I'm goin' t' be rich An' wear a tall, stiff, silk, plug hat An' have a coach an'— get big 'n' fat- A coachman t' drive an' hitch- When I get big. When I get big like pa I'll make men stan' aroun',— I'll show 'em who's t' be the boss,— 36 WHEN I GET BIG LIKE PA 3 An' them 'at don't, I'll give a toss— The biggest ones 'at's foun'— AVhen I get big. When I get big like pa I'll be a f lanthropist, An' hand out gold to folks— an' boj^s, An' give to all the childerns toys, — An' show folks what wus just- When I get big. When I get big like pa I'm goin' t' be real good. I'll never say no bad swear words, I'll whip the boys 'at throw at birds, — An' get the childern's wood,— When I get big. When I get big like pa I'll be whole lots uv things- Be rich, an' — good, an' — when I die, I 'spec' most ever'one '11 cry, — An' I'll have great big wings. When I— When I get big — like pa. THE QUEER LITTLE FAMILY HPhi: Toodle-Um-Doons and the Tweedle- Um-Deens Are the funniest little Fellows That ever were lodged in a two-by-four house And slept on warm, soft, downy pillows. For they act so unlike and each look as queer- When viewed from the other's Spectacles- As Little Boy Blue and Red Riding-Hood Would look if riding on Bicycles. The Toodle-Um-Doons are as white as the Stars, 38 THE QUEKR LITTLE FAMILY 39 But goldened a little like Ice-Creain: The Tweedle-Um-Deens black as the dark- ness of night When you wake from a dreadful Bad- Dream. The Toodle-Um-Doons have the awkward est mouths— So long, and quite broad like a paddle: The Tweedle-Um-Deens' mouths are tlie pickin'est things — As cute as a little Toy-Saddle. And the Toodle-Um-Doons have the flat- ten 'dest feet, All stretched out and growed up together: And the Tweedle-Um-Deen's toes are like sticks in a nest, When spread out and covered with feather: But the Toodle-Um-Doons go out bathing each day, And dive, and can float like a Blubber;' 40 THE CiUEER LITTLE FAMILY While the Tweedle-Um-Deens run at the sight of a Pool, Like any big, awkward Land-Lubber. Yet these two little families are housed up as one, And live with the selfsame Stepmother, Who tucks them together to bed, at sun- down, And covers them up lit to smother. O, you couldn't guess who this Queer Fam- ily is. Whose Baby-Bird-Love ever quickens,— For the Toodle-Um-Doons are some little White-Ducks, And the Tweedle-Um-I)eens, little Black- Chickens. MY TEACHER T ' VE got the bestest teacher of The whole job lot — The bestest of the shootin' match. An' I'll just tell you what, I wouldn't have that purty one— The one up stair, Fur I'm of this opinion,— she Don't treat the childern fair. But our'n does the bizness up Just about fine.— She makes us walk the chalk— yes, sir An' makes us toe the line ; But then she does it all so nice- Treats ever'one the same— 41 42 MY TEACHER Tliat, though she ain't good lookin', we Ain't got no heart to blame. The tirst night when she'd taught our room, I told ma an' pa That "I ain't goin' to like her, fur She's ugly as a squaw." Ma says, "You mus'n't talk that way. ' ' An' when I wus undressed, Pa used his slipper hard. — An' now 1 like mv teacher th' best. THE MAID IN THE MOON pOME and sit on my knee. Here is some- thing to see— The great silver Moon in the sky. And I"ll tell 3t>u about the error that's out 'Bout the Moon and the Maiden so high. 'Tis a fabulous tale that a man gets to sail 'Round the Earth on the' face of the Moon. But we will not believe, for 'tis meant to deceive Whether spoken, or written in rune. You may search on his face, high and low, all the space, 43 44 THE MAID IN THE MOON And a Man you'll not see late or soon. But near the Moon's eye, just below, you will spy The face of The Maid in the Moon. She is pretty as silk and there's none of her ilk. Who tread the foul soil here below. Her complexion's pure white,— you may see it at night, As white as the silvery snow. What a soft, pearly neck! Without jewels to deck, More fair than a Mermet rose! And her dimpled chin! And her lips are as thin As any lily's that blows! Her fashion's not late— fact it's most out of date; For bangs frizzed are long since outgrown By Parisian maids, used to style's rabid raids,— THE MAID IN THE MOON 45 But not so with The Maid in the Moon. But why keep in style? It would take a great while To prepare herself every day. And besides she must be always ready for tea, For she sups every hour, they say. There's a little romance, I will tell, for per- chance. It has missed little Wide-A wake's ear. It is said, I believe,— though I cannot con- ceive, — That the Moon calls the pretty Maid "dear." And by many 'tis said— though I'd rather be dead Than believe,— and I think it's been noon When none could well see, — for the tales don't agree,— That the Moon kissed The Maid in the Moon. 40 THE MAID IN THE MOON Had I time all to tell, tliis romance would sing well, Tiiough I'm loth to believe it is true,— But still who could foresee what ice'd do, you and me, If we were behind the clouds, tool How can one ever think that a Man's there to blink On the face of the silvery lake? It's a fiction of mothers and poets and others. To sleep to beguile Wide-Awake. So lay down your head — since the truth lias been said — On my breast, while 1 sing, and we'll soon Be sailing away to the land of pure day For a kiss from The Maid in the Moon. PERHAPS HPhe queerest thing 'at ever I heard Ur ever seen, wus one 'at occurred The other day to me 'n' Cousin Sue. She telled me to make a wush, an' nen We pulled an' pulled a wis^h-bone, when Rig-ht in the middle it split in two. So neither 'n' got our wush. But we 'LI wait till I'm big— an' nen we'll see. 47 LLST'NIN' FOR 8ANTY T WU8II 'twus next Christmas an' I wus to bed A-list'nin' to hear what ol' Santa Chius said. He's a mighty slick feller an' up to his work; That's the reason he comes 'round so long after dark. Last night I wus sure the ol' feller I'd ketch As he slipped down the chimney in order to fetch Me presents, fur I wusn't goin' to sleep,— But just lay with one eye partly open to peep. An' while I wus layin' as still as a mouse, 1 thought I heard sleigh ))ells on top of the house. 48 libt'nin' for santy 49 J listened an' lieard them go, "Ting-a-ling- ling!" An' waited fur Santy my presents to bring. I waited an' listened an' heard the bells ring, Till d'reckly I heard lots of happy folks sing- A whole himderd thousan', I 'kspect, more or less— An' saw them all dressed in— white satin, I guess. They singed an' they fluttered about in the air With their little white wings,— an' their arms wus all bare,— They looked like the pictures you see in the books, An' maybe wus angels,— that's the way angels looks. They kep' singin' an' singin' an' ihitterin' about, oo ltst'nin' fok santy Till the flrst thing J knowed ma said, "Time t' crawl out I" So I wusli 'twus next Christmas an' I wus to bed A-list'nin' to hear what ol' Santa Clans said. IF I WERE IN LOVE Tf I were in love,— and many there be,— I'd hie me away over ocean and lea — On wings of strong pinion, I'd fly like a dove, And seek far and near my fair mate, — Not fret and bemoan my sad fate. From early to late,— if I were in love. If I were in love, with fervor I'd woo, And win her fair hand with a pledge to be true, While the stars of the heaven linger above, And life keeps the ebb and the flow Of blood in my veins, to and fro, Through weal and through woe,— if J were in love. 51 52 IF I WKRE IN LOVE If I were in love, with her I'd be wed, Regardless of want and what might be said. And then with a view Heaven's sanction to prove, Invite from the heavenly gate The arch-angel down to my fete To officiate,— if I were in love I EF I WUS BIG LIKE PA IS 'Pf I WUS big like pa is An' he wus small like me, I think I'd be the biggest, With him scarce to my knee.— Let's see— Ef I wus big like pa is, W'y— he'd be littler 'n I An' nen he'd grow an', maby, Be big like me by'n'by. Ef I wus big like pa is An' he the boy,— you knows,— I'd be heap bigger 'n any Uv sister Mandy's bos. Suppose 53 54 KF 1 WITS lUG LIKE PA IS That I WHS big like pa is All' one 'ud come to see ISIy sister, would I use, then, My boot on him?— iS^ot me. Ef I wus big like pa is,— An' he the little man,— An' he'd do sum'pin' 'e ortn't, An's sorry 'bout it an'— My plan— Ef 1 wus big like pa is— 'Ud be t' not look grim An' whip, 'cause I'd remember I Wus once a boy like him. LITTLE BLUE VIOLET Little blue violet Hid in the grass, Glancing so coyly LTp as we pass. Little blue violet, Shunning the glare Of the rich noon-day— Overly fair. Little blue violet, Meekly you dwell, Decked with a radiance Born of the dell. Little blue violet, — Such is my love,— Beauty and meekness Like that Above. THE LITTERATEUR'S WEALTIJ VKJhen a feller's pour 'nd worthless, Got no knack fur gainln' wealth, Scarcely get a crust to live on— Not Inclined to obtain by stealth— When he's feelin' weak 'nd douncy, 'Most like fallin' in the ditch, Got no heart,— O how much pleasure!— Makin' stories 'bout folks that's rich. Some folks never could make money,— 'Nough to keep them lookin' white, 'Nd their grocer paid, 'nd barber, 'Nd liave fuel fur heat 'nd light— Wusn"t born with wealth, 'nd Fortune 56 THE LITTERATEUR S WEALTH Never courted them with smiles,— They must write 'nd dream 'nd fancy FolliS that can lieap gold in piles. What's the differ'nce if you're not rich, Hain't no use to groan 'nd grunt, Poverty's a mighty blessin'I— Though it's m-con-\en-i-unt,— 'Nd all pleasure's in one's thinkin', While fur ev'ry man's a niche; So I tliink ru just keep makin' Stories 'bout other folks that's rich! FATHER'S GREAT ARMCHAIR A MONG the pleasures around the house, The best one, I declare, Is just to sit and rock or doze In father's g-reat armchair. To come from playing liard all day And be all tired out, It makes one feel real peart and gay And helps to make one stout, To spend an hour, ere he go To bed alone, up stair. Sitting and rocking, to and fro, In father's great armchair. My sister May and I, when we Were tired of other fun, 58 FATHER S GREAT ARMCHAIR 59 Used often try our best, and see Which one could fastest run. And, though I was the younger and Could never run so fast As she, I got the upper hand And just the thing I asked. For, if I failed, then I would bite And scratch and pull May's hair, Till mother ended up the tight By giving me— the chair. Last spring May took down very ill. And had to lie in bed, And wanted us to all keep still,— And sometimes cool her head. — Till finally my mother bore Tier over, with a prayer, "Where she migiit sit and smilo, once more, Jn father's great armchair. 60 FATHER'S GREAT ARMCHAIR And now if May would come and live With us, no pains I'd spare To malie her happy — and I'd give Her father's great armchair. J&5 HUSII-A-BY, ROCK-A-BY ''riRED of romping and tired of playini Tired of walking and tired of straying, Rest you, my bonny-browed boy! Tired of skipping with Fairies and dancing, Tired of tripping witli Wood-Nymplis, en- trancing, Rest you, my bonny-browed boy! Hush-a-by, rock-a-by, motlier is near you, Make no loud noises or some one will hear you, Angels' gay voices are coming to cheer you On to the land of sweet dreams. Wearied of pleasure and wearied of sorrow. Wearied of happiness -o'er till to-morrow, Sleep you, my golden-haired boy! 61 i)2 HUSH-A-BY, ROCK-A-BY Wearied of many of youth's blessings tested, Wearied of life itself, till you have rested, Sleep you, my golden-haired boy! ilush-a-by, rock-a-by, sleep well, my dearie, Rest, and to-morrow you will not be weary, Dream pleasant dreams and you will be cheery, Dream little gossamer dreams. THE FANCY OF A GlEL T THINK I'll be a soldier when I'm grown, With uniform an' sword an' dash an' whirl, For one thing- 1 have noticed an' have known, That that will ketch the fancy sf a girl. 63 PRECEPT AND PlIACTICE JOHNNY, why don't j'-oii ever go ToSiindaj^ School, like me? Up there where folkses dress up tine, An' wear starched shirts an' shoes that shine, An' little girls wear curls, — an' know Their lesson gooder'n nie? Johnny, you'd ort to go up there To that big, fine church-house— Witli cyarpets in the isles an' pews — Where wealthy men pays heavy dues,— Like on the train you pays your fare, — Fur best seats in the house. 64 PRECEPT AND PRACTICE 65 Johnny, whole lots o' thing's we learn Frum teachers in that school, 'Bout folks we never heard before— I 'speck they must be 'most a score— An' how bad comp'ny we should spurn, An' keep the Golden Rule. Johnny, I wush you'd go some day. An' hear how we are blln' An' need the Good-Man's help to see, An' make us like we'd ort to be.— "Got no good clo'es to wear," you say? I'll stay home 'n' lend you mine! THESE NEWFANGLED CHRIS'MASES 'These here newfangled Cliris'mases, Spelled X instead of Chris, Are gettin' all too dudish-like Fur such old heads as this. Seems like tliey're run to make a shovv^ 'Nd get a pile of checks,— 'Nd just to make a sensation Spelled, not with Chrin, but X. At Peanut, where I used to sit 'Nd wliittle by the hour On Goodsbox Corner, now I couldn't,— By the celestial power!— 1 couldn't fuT five mviutes stand Without as many wrecks With folks a-huntin' Chris'raas gifts, Spelled, not with Chris, but X. THESE NEWFANaLED CHKIS'3IASES (i7 The stores are heaped with childern's toys, Dolls, dogs 'nd sheep 'nd drams; Delicate chinas, gilded 'round, 'Nd costin' dainty sums; V/indow 'nd showcase heapin' full. Jewels fur arms 'nd necks,— 'Nd each one labeled so you'll know- Spelled, not with Chris, but X. The Church 'nd Sunday Schools now days Are takin' to the shine; Preachers a-preachin' givin' gifts 'Nd not the truth, divine; The Sunday Schools a-havin' trees, 'Nd wheels, 'nd boats with decks,— Fur these newfangled Chris 'mases. Spelled, not with Chris, but X. The old-time Chris'mas dinners, too. Are all gone out of date; A table filled with wholesome grub. 08 THESK NEWFANGLED CHKIS'MASES Folks will not tolerate; Dainty viands, cooked a la French, — To which your taste objecks, — 'Nd hid frum sight,— makes Chris'mas now— Spelled, not with Chris, but X. O fur the old-time Chris'masesI "With hearts plumb full of joy; Gifts that are given fur their worth 'Nd suited to a boy; 'Nd Chrirt'mas dinners, pilin' up, 'Nd naburs you respecks Come 'round to eat;— not Chris'mases Spelled, not with Chris, but X. 'Nd O the old-time Chris'mases With fathers sayin' grace; 'Nd preachers preachin' gospel truths, 'N^d liftin' up the race; 'Nd ever' soul a-runnin' o'er With an old-fashioned bliss! — Not these newfangled Chris'mases, Spelled X instead of Chris. OPINIONS TESTED lUr OTHER thinks I'm purty small To be a-havin' beaux— But she has never been a boy, An' I don't guess she knows. Little Sary 'Mely Ann, 'At lives next door to us, Has got such rosy lips 'at I, One day, gived them a buss. An' father says 'at she's my girl, An' says 'at boys has beaux,— An' father used to be a boy,— So I guess father knows. 69 THE LITTLE MOUND "Deside yon hill is a little mound; 'Tis long and narrow, with sloping- sides, Fresh is the blue grass all around But not a root in the fresh earth hides. And at one end of the mound a stone Is standing in marble silence alone. Near it approaches a wayward son, — Just entered manhood's strength and years,— His energies bent on life's pleasures begun So recently;— too strong-hearted for fears, — 70 THE littlp: mound 71 As reckless and dauntless as a lion, bold, And schooled to vices and crimes scarce told. Now on that tnound lays the sin-hardened man Whom nothing could move to a tear or a sigh. Writhing and groaning as under a ban, Prone on the earth does the anguished one lie. For, ah! that mound is a mother's sod To him who is now passing under the rod. 'Tis a better man that leaves the grave,— Though wretched, and groveling as the dust,— For up from the clods a hand doth wave, Ever, which lendeth him faith totrusti O the influence of love from mother to son Is never done, is nover done I THE CRADLE-KING TJere's a little romance 1 will sing, 1 will sing, Here's a little romance I will sing. 'Tis the story of one who was king, who was king, 'Tis the story of one who was king. There was once a young man of small size, of small size, And a clever young man for his years. Who ruled a whole realm with his eyes, with his eyes. Yes, ruled a whole realm with his tears. But unwisely he ruled, this young man, this young man, For the good of his subjects, all. 72 THE CRADLE-KING 73 He had the whole realm under ban, under ban, Of discord from greatest to small. He fell in love with a wife, with a wife, With another man's wife, fell in love, And he stole 'way her heart and despoiled the man's life, And he ruined the nest of a dove. Now if you will list I am done, I am done, Telling who it was caused all this strife. That fickle, small woman calls you son, calls you son. And I call her wife, call her wife. LULLABY OF COMET-LAND pLOSE your winky-blinky eyes, Upward my lady-bird sailsl Dream of beauties in the skies, Upward my lady-bird sails! Search the mysteries now unknown. Look at glories all your own, Gaze in rapture at your throne. In Comet-Land. Rock-a-by wields a golden wand. Ride on the wing of the gales! Gives her orders to courtiers, grand. Ride on the wing of the gales! 74 LULLABY OF COMET-LAND 75 Every one moves to her call, Prince and beggar, great and small,— She, the idol of them all,— In Comet-Land. Nestle closely then, little one. Fly over mountains and dales! Pass the land of the midday sun, Fly over mountains and dales! iSeek the realm of radiant nights. All aglow with transplendent sights. Bounded by haloes of golden delights, In Comet-Land. THE BIG WOLF-DRIVE "Tell you what's the mostest fun, Winter warm 'nd weather dry, Clubs 'nd rocks but not no gun- All the country out to try,— Dogs kep' tied up till you're done,— Rabbits thick as in a hive. When you finish— a big wolf-drive! Yellin', holler'n', whoopin', scream, Walkin', runnin,' hours 'pon hours, 'Pears like you wus in a dream. Exercise until the power's All gone from you— but you seem Still as fresh 'nd all alive,— Till you're home from the big wolf- drive. 76 THE BIG WOLF-DRIVE 77 One time me 'nd Pa 'nd Johnt, Uncle Boon 'nd his three boys, Went from our side of the hunt. 'Nd / killed one— guess the noise Of Pa's gun stunned him, for he grunt,— Took on, my! I drawed my knife ^Nd killed one wolf— on that wolf-drive. Last time v/hen we had a chase. Closed in, havin' hosts of fun. From miles around 'nd lots of space- Found we hadn't a single one. — Took it with as good a grace As if we had slaughtered five,— For huntings the fun of a big wolf- drive. THE IIAYMAKING-TIME r\ THE hayinakinLr-tiiiie, O the haymaking- time! The catbird and the brown thrush making music all a-chime, The bumblebee and honeybee a-humming at their task, The rattler and the bull snake coiled up in the sun to bask, The harvest-hands all wringing' wet, with sweat a-dripping down From off their brows and nose and chin, and hands all hard and brown, — And nothing for a lad to do but drink in nature's sweets And hoard up stores of wisdom, gained from everything he meets. 78 THE HAY3IAKING-TIME 79 O the haymaking-time, O the haymaking- time! The earth a-gloat with melody, the zephyr gusts a-rhyme, The leaves and twigs, tlie vines and trees, speaking in tongues of verse. Fields of wheat and pastures, green, richer than any purse; Orchard, meadow, woodland, dale, all in the selfsame mood, Each inspiring, each inspired, and dancing the year's interlude; While up in the sky the king of day plays chords on rays of light And holds entranced, belated hours, the beauteous queen of night. O the haymaking-time, O the haymaking- time! The mind and soul in harmony with nature's moods, sublime; A boyhood's years and boyhood's heart, and fancy free as space 80 THE HAYMAKING-TIME And reading truths and beauties where, to man's eyes, is no trace. With life and love before him and with dreams of greatness, rare, A-gilding with an halo every thought to over-fair, — To wish to be a man, then, were a most un- holy crime, In the haymaking-time, the old haymaking- time. APR 16 1900 liiiiji Q 01 5 937 18b ^ S^St^'-^i^'^^M^