Songs and Other Verse | Page 6

At every price,
Eschew the vice

Of eating pie in the morning.
FRANK W. GUNSAULUS.
Chicago, March, 1896.
THE CONTENTS OF THIS BOOK
THE SINGING IN GOD'S ACRE
THE DREAM-SHIP
TO CINNA

BALLAD OF WOMEN I LOVE
SUPPOSE
MYSTERIOUS DOINGS
WITH TWO SPOONS FOR TWO SPOONS
MARY SMITH
JESSIE
TO EMMA ABBOTT
THE GREAT JOURNALIST IN SPAIN
LOVE SONG--HEINE
THE STODDARDS
THE THREE TAILORS
THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY
HUGO'S "POOL IN THE FOREST"
A RHINE-LAND DRINKING SONG
DER MANN IM KELLER
TWO IDYLLS FROM BION THE SMYRNEAN
THE WOOING OF THE SOUTHLAND
HYMN
STAR OF THE EAST
TWIN IDOLS

TWO VALENTINES
MOTHER AND SPHINX
A SPRING POEM FROM BION
BÉRANGER'S "To MY OLD COAT"
BEN APFELGARTEN
A HEINE LOVE SONG
UHLAND'S "CHAPEL"
THE DREAMS
IN NEW ORLEANS
MY PLAYMATES
STOVES AND SUNSHINE
A DRINKING SONG
THE LIMITATIONS OF YOUTH
THE BOW-LEG BOY
THE STRAW PARLOR
A PITEOUS PLAINT
THE DISCREET COLLECTOR
A VALENTINE
THE WIND
A PARAPHRASE

WITH BRUTUS IN ST. JO
THE TWO LITTLE SKEEZUCKS
PAN LIVETH
DR. SAM
WINFREDA
LYMAN, FREDERICK, AND JIM
BE MY SWEETHEART
THE PETER-BIRD
SISTER'S CAKE
ABU MIDJAN
ED
JENNIE
CONTENTMENT
"GUESS"
NEW-YEAR'S EVE
OLD SPANISH SONG
THE BROKEN RING
IN PRAISE OF CONTENTMENT
THE BALLAD OF THE TAYLOR PUP
AFTER READING TROLLOPE'S HISTORY OF FLORENCE

A LULLABY
"THE OLD HOMESTEAD"
CHRISTMAS HYMN
A PARAPHRASE OF HEINE
THE CONVALESCENT GRIPSTER
THE SLEEPING CHILD
THE TWO COFFINS
CLARE MARKET
A DREAM OF SPRINGTIME
UHLAND'S WHITE STAG
HOW SALTY WIN OUT
THE SINGING IN GOD'S ACRE
Out yonder in the moonlight, wherein God's Acre lies,
Go angels
walking to and fro, singing their lullabies.
Their radiant wings are
folded, and their eyes are bended low, As they sing among the beds
whereon the flowers delight to grow,--
"Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd guardeth His sheep.
Fast speedeth
the night away,
Soon cometh the glorious day;
Sleep, weary ones,
while ye may,
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
The flowers within God's Acre see that fair and wondrous sight, And
hear the angels singing to the sleepers through the night; And, lo!
throughout the hours of day those gentle flowers prolong The music of
the angels in that tender slumber-song,--

"Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd loveth His sheep.
He that guardeth
His flock the best
Hath folded them to His loving breast;
So sleep
ye now, and take your rest,--
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
From angel and from flower the years have learned that soothing song,
And with its heavenly music speed the days and nights along; So
through all time, whose flight the Shepherd's vigils glorify, God's Acre
slumbereth in the grace of that sweet lullaby,--
"Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd loveth His sheep.
Fast speedeth the
night away,
Soon cometh the glorious day;
Sleep, weary ones,
while ye may,--
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
THE DREAM-SHIP
When the world is fast asleep,
Along the midnight skies--
As though it were a wandering cloud--
The ghostly dream-ship flies.
An angel stands at the dream-ship's helm,
An angel stands at the prow,
And an angel stands at the dream-ship's
side
With a rue-wreath on her brow.
The other angels, silver-crowned,
Pilot and helmsman are,
And the angel with the wreath of rue
Tosseth the dreams afar.

The dreams they fall on rich and poor;
They fall on young and old;
And some are dreams of poverty,
And some are dreams of gold.
And some are dreams that thrill with joy,
And some that melt to tears;
Some are dreams of the dawn of love,
And some of the old dead years.
On rich and poor alike they fall,
Alike on young and old,
Bringing to slumbering earth their joys
And sorrows manifold.
The friendless youth in them shall do
The deeds of mighty men,
And drooping age shall feel the grace
Of buoyant youth again.
The king shall be a beggarman--
The pauper be a king--
In that revenge or recompense
The dream-ship dreams do bring.
So ever downward float the dreams
That are for all and me,
And there is never mortal man
Can solve that mystery.
But ever onward in its course
Along the haunted skies--
As though it were a cloud astray--

The ghostly dream-ship flies.
Two angels with their silver crowns
Pilot and helmsman are,
And an angel with a wreath of rue
Tosseth the dreams afar.
TO CINNA
Cinna, the great Venusian told
In songs that will not die
How in
Augustan days of old
Your love did glorify
His life and all his
being seemed
Thrilled by that rare incense
Till, grudging him the
dreams he dreamed,
The gods did call you hence.
Cinna, I've looked into your eyes,
And held your hands in mine,

And seen your cheeks in sweet surprise
Blush red as Massic wine;

Now let the songs in Cinna's praise
Be chanted once again,
For, oh!
alone I walk the