Noble fellow, faithful friend!
Devoted, kind, and true;
In all this wide, wide world I've found
No one who loves like you.
Faithful dog, rememb'rest thou
(Oh, lucky day for thee!)
When thou, a friendless puppy, came
To beg a crust from me?
Then thou wast hungry, footsore, cold,
Thy sides were lank and thin;
But when I saw thy friendly face
I gladly took thee in.
Now thou art beautiful and plump.
Thy fur is soft and sleek,
A pretty collar buckled round
Thy noble, glossy neck.
But thou, oh, noble, trusty friend,
Repay'st this care of mine
A thousand-fold, for who could spurn
Devotion such as thine?
I know if thou, in time to come,
Some other friend should find,
Thou wilt not say of me harsh words
And sentences unkind.
So they who would our friendship scorn—
My fondness would reprove,—
Would better come to thee and learn
True gratitude and love.
SOMEBODY.
There's somebody stayin' aroun' our house—
I don't know who or where—
That sneaks about an' follers me out
An' in an' ever'where
I go; an' 'sturbs my skates an' things,
An' scatters 'em all about;
But you bet your stuff it'll go mighty tough
With 'im when I find 'im out!
Though I hang my hat an' coat away,
Up on the peg with care,
I'll just be bound they can't be found
When I want 'em,—anywhere.
When I've hunted for 'em till I'm late for school,
An' mad as one ol' March hare,
An' a dozen more, right down on the floor
I'll find that hat, just where
Somebody's went an' throwed it down,—
It's the same with my books each day,
My bat an' ball, my mittens an' all,
Though I'm sure I put 'em away.
But I tell you this: if I ever find
Who that meddlesome "somebody" is,
I'll rout 'im, an' scout 'im, an' all that's about 'im,
I'll learn 'im to mind his biz.
THE HERO OF EVERY-DAY LIFE.
(SONG.)
We sing of the hero of battle,
We cherish and worship his name;
Of the hero of old, and the hero of gold,
Of him who has honor and fame.
The hero of love's tender passion,
Who basks in its mystical ray,
As we journey along, but never a song
For the hero we meet every day.
The one who can face, aye, so bravely
His losses, rebuffs, and defeat;
Whose heart will not break though the world may forsake,—
From the enemy will not retreat.
Who never will murmur at fate, when
It seems an unmerciful foe,
But struggles along with a heart true and strong,
And strikes a far nobler blow.
Though his last golden castle is shattered
And sown to the wind long ago,
Each one that he meets with a warm smile he greets,—
His burden we never may know.
But hark! sweetest melodies mingle
With the din of earth's tumult and strife—
Heaven's joyous bells ring and archangels sing
For the hero of every-day life.
THE CHILD'S INQUIRY.
Oh, where is that beautiful city, mamma,
The one that is called Fort Wayne?
Does it rest in the light of a clear blue sky,
'Way out on a sandy plain?
Or may it be found where the roses climb
Over trellises built so high
That if you would pluck off the topmost one
You'd have to climb up to the sky?
Or where all the streets are so smooth and so clean
That buggies and bicycles, too,
Glide along with all ease in the sweet dreamy breeze,
Like balloons in soft heavens of blue?
Mother: Not there, my child, not there.
Fort Wayne is a hustling city, my dear,
On the banks of the old Maumee,
Where most of the folks are too busy to care
The beauties of nature to see.
'Tis a place where they all pay a tax, my dear,
For repairing the street, you know,
That they all may enjoy their bicycles, dear,
As "bumpety bump" they go.
And should you e'er enter that city, my dear,
Be sure that you always look down,
Or first thing you know in a rut you will go,
And find yourself flat on the ground.
Or if 'tis not you that is flat on the ground,
Your bicycle ruined will be—
There are tacks, broken beer-bottles strewn all around,
And your tire will be punctured, you see.
Fort Wayne is the city of "tags," my dear,
As every taxpayer knows;
Tags on their horses, their wheels, and their dogs,
And tags from their heads to their toes.
When its people go into the country, my dear,
To enjoy its cool breezes and shade,
They are bangled and spangled with tags, my dear,
Till they look like a circus parade.
It is there, my child, it is there.
TO THE OLD TOWN CLOCK.
Oh, servant faithful, tried, and true,
Through sunshine, storm, and shower,
Thy face for nearly forty years
Has graced the court-house tower;
Thy hands have never idle hung,
Thy face was always cheery,
Thy ever-swinging pendulum
Seemed never, never weary.
When we were late to work or school,
How gently didst thou chide us,
Telling in soft and muffled chimes
How swiftly time glides by us.
Oh, how the workman loved thy voice,
When thou, at set of sun,
Proclaimed in softest, sweetest chimes,
That his day's work was done.
But to us all it lost its charm,
And sounded cross and surly,
When wakened by its loud alarm
In morning, oh, so early!
The maple trees that spread their boughs
O'er the court-house yard below,
Each year yield up their foliage
To winter's frost and snow.
The birds that nest and sing among
Their boughs in summer time,
When winter winds begin to blow,
All seek a sunny clime.
But thou, oh, tried and faithful one,
Wert always just the same,
Keeping the time with merry chime
Through sunshine, snow, and rain.
For forty years thou'st kept the time,
While in the court below
Stood he who perpetrated crime,
Waiting his doom to know;
And when a murderer was tried,
Who, for a little pay,
Did take the life of a trusting friend,
In a hut not far away,
"One, two, three," we heard thee say,
In measured tones and slow,
As forth, to be tried in heav'nly courts,
His blood-stained soul did go.
Oh, cruel was thy fate, old clock!
For many days ago
Thy old familiar face was crushed
By workmen's sturdy blow.
They say they'll build a new court-house,
And that they will replace
By timepiece handsome, bright and new
Thy old storm-beaten face.
Then thou, oh, servant tried and true,
Through storm, sunshine, and show'r,
The music of thy mellow chimes
We'll hear again no more.
AFTERWHILE, SOMEWHERE.
Some day the misty shadow
That covers your heaven of blue,
Will melted be, and you will see
The rainbow gleaming through.
The tears you've shed in silence
For love that was wasted here—
Be still, O soul! They'll find their goal,
Afterwhile, somewhere.
Though deeds of tend'rest kindness
Oft bitter reproaches bring,
As the drowning bee that you'd set free
Repays you with a sting.
The pain you bear in silence,
For confidence wasted here
Will blossoms yield in a sun-kissed field,
Afterwhile, somewhere.
Though years of honest labor
Success has never crowned,
No fruit they brought, though nobly wrought,
Dire Fate has always frowned.
The seed you've sown with patience,
The labor you've wasted here,
Again will bloom in the harvest-home,
Afterwhile, somewhere.