Songs of Friendship | Page 7

fryin'?Supper, with that man a-pitchin'?Little Marthy round the kitchen,?Think-says-I, "Them baby's eyes?Is my Henry's, jes' p'cise!"
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[Illustration: A letter to a friend--headpiece]
A LETTER TO A FRIEND
The past is like a story?I have listened to in dreams?That vanished in the glory?Of the Morning's early gleams;?And--at my shadow glancing--?I feel a loss of strength,?As the Day of Life advancing?Leaves it shorn of half its length.
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But it's all in vain to worry?At the rapid race of Time--?And he flies in such a flurry?When I trip him with a rhyme,?I'll bother him no longer?Than to thank you for the thought?That "my fame is growing stronger?As you really think it ought."
And though I fall below it,?I might know as much of mirth?To live and die a poet?Of unacknowledged worth;?For Fame is but a vagrant--?Though a loyal one and brave,?And his laurels ne'er so fragrant?As when scattered o'er the grave.
[Illustration: A letter to a friend--tailpiece]
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[Illustration: The old-fashioned Bible--headpiece]
THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood?That now but in mem'ry I sadly review;?The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood,?The rail fence, and horses all tethered thereto;?The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple,?The doves that came fluttering out overhead?As it solemnly gathered the God-fearing people?To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.?The old-fashioned Bible--?The dust-covered Bible--?The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.
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[Illustration: The blessed old volume]
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The blessed old volume! The face bent above it--?As now I recall it--is gravely severe,?Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it?Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear,?And, as down his features it trickles and glistens,?The cough of the deacon is stilled, and his head?Like a haloed patriarch's leans as he listens?To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.?The old-fashioned Bible--?The dust-covered Bible--?The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.
Ah! who shall look backward with scorn and derision?And scoff the old book though it uselessly lies?In the dust of the past, while this newer revision?Lisps on of a hope and a home in the skies??Shall the voice of the Master be stifled and riven??Shall we hear but a tithe of the words He has said,?When so long He has, listening, leaned out of Heaven?To hear the old Bible my grandfather read??The old-fashioned Bible--?The dust-covered Bible--?The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.
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[Illustration: Good-by er howdy-do--headpiece]
GOOD-BY ER HOWDY-DO
Say good-by er howdy-do--?What's the odds betwixt the two??Comin'--goin', ev'ry day--?Best friends first to go away--?Grasp of hands you'd ruther hold?Than their weight in solid gold?Slips their grip while greetin' you.--?Say good-by er howdy-do!
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Howdy-do, and then, good-by--?Mixes jes' like laugh and cry;?Deaths and births, and worst and best,?Tangled their contrariest;?Ev'ry jinglin' weddin'-bell?Skeerin' up some funer'l knell.--?Here's my song, and there's your sigh.--?Howdy-do, and then, good-by!
Say good-by er howdy-do--?Jes' the same to me and you;?'Taint worth while to make no fuss,?'Cause the job's put up on us!?Some One's runnin' this concern?That's got nothin' else to learn:?Ef _He's_ willin', we'll pull through--?Say good-by er howdy-do!
[Illustration: Good-by er howdy-do--tailpiece]
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WHEN WE THREE MEET
When we three meet? Ah! friend of mine?Whose verses well and flow as wine,--?My thirsting fancy thou dost fill?With draughts delicious, sweeter still?Since tasted by those lips of thine.
I pledge thee, through the chill sunshine?Of autumn, with a warmth divine,?Thrilled through as only I shall thrill?When we three meet.
I pledge thee, if we fast or dine,?We yet shall loosen, line by line,?Old ballads, and the blither trill?Of our-time singers--for there will?Be with us all the Muses nine
When we three meet.
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[Illustration: "The little man in the tinshop"--headpiece]
"THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TINSHOP"
When I was a little boy, long ago,?And spoke of the theater as the "show,"?The first one that I went to see,?Mother's brother it was took me--?(My uncle, of course, though he seemed to be?Only a boy--I loved him so!)?And ah, how pleasant he made it all!?And the things he knew that _I_ should know!--?The stage, the "drop," and the frescoed wall;?The sudden flash of the lights; and oh,?The orchestra, with its melody,?And the lilt and jingle and jubilee?Of "The Little Man in the Tinshop"!
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For Uncle showed me the "Leader" there,?With his pale, bleak forehead and long, black hair;?Showed me the "Second," and "'Cello," and "Bass,"?And the "B-Flat," pouting and puffing his face?At the little end of the horn he blew?Silvery bubbles of music through;?And he coined me names of them, each in turn,?Some comical name that I laughed to learn,?Clean on down to the last and best,--?The lively little man, never at rest,?Who hides away at the end of the string,?And tinkers and plays on everything,--?That's "The Little Man in the Tinshop"!
Raking a drum like a rattle of hail,?Clinking a cymbal or castanet;?Chirping a twitter or sending a wail?Through a piccolo that thrills me yet;?Reeling ripples of riotous bells,?And tipsy tinkles of triangles--?Wrangled and tangled in skeins of sound?Till it seemed that my very soul spun round,?As I leaned,