MRS. JOSEPHINE F. HAMILL[15]

MISTLETOE.Photo by the Author.

When I see her face to face,At home a-front the rolling sea,A buoyant tide of life flows over me,With quickened, joyful pace.A breath from perfumed hills I inbreatheThat is purer than the breezeFrom sun-lit seas;And I perceive a beauty incarnate,Not far below the gifted gods,Who for others mediate,And to men bequeatheThe best from Him immaculate.She is a symphony,A living, moving harmony,Where doomed discord would rampant be;Face to be studied like Art’s masterpiece, and more,For somehow it charms one beyond self and toil and the beaten shore.If I cannot tell,Nor explain the spell,In my own heart’s depthsI know whyShe has eyes that image, please and edify.In smiles which come and go and quick return,I feel the ebb and flow of a fuller Fount and vaster,The symbols visible of unseen verities,For which I yearn,And those high born, universal sympathies,Pouring ever forth from the highest Master.Her altruistic thoughts and every word,Like the spontaneous out-burst of a joy-filled bird,Looking near and far to lighten human needs—More fruitful than Pomona are her deeds—All these point to heights where one’s transferred,Softly, safely, faster.Her life is one of many links and spans,Unbroken and unbreakable—For joyless mortals joy unspeakable—Forged links, not made with human hands,In mystery joining together heaven and earth,Till the day of fullness and our greatest birth,Day of fulfillment,And at-one-ment.And then?Ah Then!

When I see her face to face,At home a-front the rolling sea,A buoyant tide of life flows over me,With quickened, joyful pace.

When I see her face to face,

At home a-front the rolling sea,

A buoyant tide of life flows over me,

With quickened, joyful pace.

A breath from perfumed hills I inbreatheThat is purer than the breezeFrom sun-lit seas;And I perceive a beauty incarnate,Not far below the gifted gods,Who for others mediate,And to men bequeatheThe best from Him immaculate.

A breath from perfumed hills I inbreathe

That is purer than the breeze

From sun-lit seas;

And I perceive a beauty incarnate,

Not far below the gifted gods,

Who for others mediate,

And to men bequeathe

The best from Him immaculate.

She is a symphony,A living, moving harmony,Where doomed discord would rampant be;Face to be studied like Art’s masterpiece, and more,For somehow it charms one beyond self and toil and the beaten shore.

She is a symphony,

A living, moving harmony,

Where doomed discord would rampant be;

Face to be studied like Art’s masterpiece, and more,

For somehow it charms one beyond self and toil and the beaten shore.

If I cannot tell,Nor explain the spell,In my own heart’s depthsI know whyShe has eyes that image, please and edify.

If I cannot tell,

Nor explain the spell,

In my own heart’s depths

I know why

She has eyes that image, please and edify.

In smiles which come and go and quick return,I feel the ebb and flow of a fuller Fount and vaster,The symbols visible of unseen verities,For which I yearn,And those high born, universal sympathies,Pouring ever forth from the highest Master.

In smiles which come and go and quick return,

I feel the ebb and flow of a fuller Fount and vaster,

The symbols visible of unseen verities,

For which I yearn,

And those high born, universal sympathies,

Pouring ever forth from the highest Master.

Her altruistic thoughts and every word,Like the spontaneous out-burst of a joy-filled bird,Looking near and far to lighten human needs—More fruitful than Pomona are her deeds—All these point to heights where one’s transferred,Softly, safely, faster.

Her altruistic thoughts and every word,

Like the spontaneous out-burst of a joy-filled bird,

Looking near and far to lighten human needs—

More fruitful than Pomona are her deeds—

All these point to heights where one’s transferred,

Softly, safely, faster.

Her life is one of many links and spans,Unbroken and unbreakable—For joyless mortals joy unspeakable—Forged links, not made with human hands,In mystery joining together heaven and earth,Till the day of fullness and our greatest birth,Day of fulfillment,And at-one-ment.And then?Ah Then!

Her life is one of many links and spans,

Unbroken and unbreakable—

For joyless mortals joy unspeakable—

Forged links, not made with human hands,

In mystery joining together heaven and earth,

Till the day of fullness and our greatest birth,

Day of fulfillment,

And at-one-ment.

And then?

Ah Then!

At lone midnight, with only the lightOf stars across my bed,And on my wakeful head,I prayed for sight, or note though slight,Of moving melody.’Twas then I heard the call of a bird,A soft, pathetic cry;It seemed to ask: “Oh, why,My pleading word is not yet heard,And I forsaken be?”A motherless chick, and my heart grew quick;My youngest, sleeping, dreaming girl,With tender heart and eye like pearl,Had played love’s trick, when hale or sick,A devoted mother she.With night’s last wane, I heard life’s strain—A woodland warbler’s song.The child arose ere longWith love so fain; I caught againRich rhythm of amity.The chick’s cry ceased—’twas now a feast,And note of joy it spokeTo the motherly master-stroke—Glory in the east for the very least,And smiled the Deity.On man’s wide sea there come to meStill deeper wails; oh, hark!The children cry—’tis dark!Ah, when shall we on earth decreeDivinest ecstasy?

At lone midnight, with only the lightOf stars across my bed,And on my wakeful head,I prayed for sight, or note though slight,Of moving melody.

At lone midnight, with only the light

Of stars across my bed,

And on my wakeful head,

I prayed for sight, or note though slight,

Of moving melody.

’Twas then I heard the call of a bird,A soft, pathetic cry;It seemed to ask: “Oh, why,My pleading word is not yet heard,And I forsaken be?”

’Twas then I heard the call of a bird,

A soft, pathetic cry;

It seemed to ask: “Oh, why,

My pleading word is not yet heard,

And I forsaken be?”

A motherless chick, and my heart grew quick;My youngest, sleeping, dreaming girl,With tender heart and eye like pearl,Had played love’s trick, when hale or sick,A devoted mother she.

A motherless chick, and my heart grew quick;

My youngest, sleeping, dreaming girl,

With tender heart and eye like pearl,

Had played love’s trick, when hale or sick,

A devoted mother she.

With night’s last wane, I heard life’s strain—A woodland warbler’s song.The child arose ere longWith love so fain; I caught againRich rhythm of amity.

With night’s last wane, I heard life’s strain—

A woodland warbler’s song.

The child arose ere long

With love so fain; I caught again

Rich rhythm of amity.

The chick’s cry ceased—’twas now a feast,And note of joy it spokeTo the motherly master-stroke—Glory in the east for the very least,And smiled the Deity.

The chick’s cry ceased—’twas now a feast,

And note of joy it spoke

To the motherly master-stroke—

Glory in the east for the very least,

And smiled the Deity.

On man’s wide sea there come to meStill deeper wails; oh, hark!The children cry—’tis dark!Ah, when shall we on earth decreeDivinest ecstasy?

On man’s wide sea there come to me

Still deeper wails; oh, hark!

The children cry—’tis dark!

Ah, when shall we on earth decree

Divinest ecstasy?

He came to a stop, from the hailing cop,The Kid ’neath the apple tree;And then the cop went “over the top,”Pronouncing his decree.“Oh yes, ha, ha, a thief you are!Come tell me quick your name;Your fun I’ll mar without a scar,And scribble it down—for fame.”

He came to a stop, from the hailing cop,The Kid ’neath the apple tree;And then the cop went “over the top,”Pronouncing his decree.

He came to a stop, from the hailing cop,

The Kid ’neath the apple tree;

And then the cop went “over the top,”

Pronouncing his decree.

“Oh yes, ha, ha, a thief you are!Come tell me quick your name;Your fun I’ll mar without a scar,And scribble it down—for fame.”

“Oh yes, ha, ha, a thief you are!

Come tell me quick your name;

Your fun I’ll mar without a scar,

And scribble it down—for fame.”

The Kiddie smiled, like a guileless child;“Have one, it’s awfully nice.”Thus reconciled, the cop grew mild,Beholding the Kid’s device.

The Kiddie smiled, like a guileless child;

“Have one, it’s awfully nice.”

Thus reconciled, the cop grew mild,

Beholding the Kid’s device.

He seized with joy the fruit and boy,With both of them enraptured;“You human toy, you’re some decoy,For now you have me captured.”

He seized with joy the fruit and boy,

With both of them enraptured;

“You human toy, you’re some decoy,

For now you have me captured.”

The favored child was loved indeedBy father, mother, city and state—All glad to give the highest meed,The child they’ve blest both soon and late.Another child did men berate,And now and then they brought to shame;They saw and caused a cruel FateTo damn this child with a felon’s name.The happy child of Fortune’s breedFor mind and body had fullest plate;Of noble flesh, an elect seed,The child they’ve blest both soon and late.The chanceless child they chose to hate,To hinder hands that would reclaim—Ah, even moved some magistrateTo damn this child with a felon’s name.The well-led boy should take the lead,Have free and ever a high estate—’Twas rank injustice to impedeThe child they’ve blest both soon and late.The wayward child could ne’er be great,And so ’twas meet his mind to flame,And just his doom to accelerate,To damn this child with a felon’s name.EnvoyThey all sped him to Heaven’s gate,The child they’ve blest both soon and late.And the godless waif? ’Twas Hell’s deep aim,To damn this child with a felon’s name.

The favored child was loved indeed

By father, mother, city and state—

All glad to give the highest meed,

The child they’ve blest both soon and late.

Another child did men berate,

And now and then they brought to shame;

They saw and caused a cruel Fate

To damn this child with a felon’s name.

The happy child of Fortune’s breedFor mind and body had fullest plate;Of noble flesh, an elect seed,The child they’ve blest both soon and late.The chanceless child they chose to hate,To hinder hands that would reclaim—Ah, even moved some magistrateTo damn this child with a felon’s name.

The happy child of Fortune’s breed

For mind and body had fullest plate;

Of noble flesh, an elect seed,

The child they’ve blest both soon and late.

The chanceless child they chose to hate,

To hinder hands that would reclaim—

Ah, even moved some magistrate

To damn this child with a felon’s name.

The well-led boy should take the lead,Have free and ever a high estate—’Twas rank injustice to impedeThe child they’ve blest both soon and late.The wayward child could ne’er be great,And so ’twas meet his mind to flame,And just his doom to accelerate,To damn this child with a felon’s name.

The well-led boy should take the lead,

Have free and ever a high estate—

’Twas rank injustice to impede

The child they’ve blest both soon and late.

The wayward child could ne’er be great,

And so ’twas meet his mind to flame,

And just his doom to accelerate,

To damn this child with a felon’s name.

Envoy

They all sped him to Heaven’s gate,The child they’ve blest both soon and late.And the godless waif? ’Twas Hell’s deep aim,To damn this child with a felon’s name.

They all sped him to Heaven’s gate,

The child they’ve blest both soon and late.

And the godless waif? ’Twas Hell’s deep aim,

To damn this child with a felon’s name.

Of all things vile beneath the sky,By night or day that creep or fly;The spider, bedbug, hated louse;Or close-coiled rattler, gnawing mouse;The buzzard, skunk, or murderous mink,Hyena mean, whose eye doth blink—Wherever one may rest or wander,The vilest he who breedeth slander.The rattler warns you—jump or run,Or give him battle with stick or gun!The skunk offends you—let him go;He takes his choice ’twixt friend and foe.The blackest buzzards often useSome others’ victim or refuse.Bedbugs—Bah! Such creeping thingsDo basely vex; still we are kings.Hyenas are caged or far away;The mice entrapped by night and day.But Slanderer’s base and slimy wordIs fouler far than beast or bird.Infectious doubt injects he first,And defamation’s not his worst;His victim says: “I’m stript of fame;If felon then, I’ll play the game.”Thus some decide; and who may tellThe dirty depths of this fiend of hell?And there he’ll go, upwept, unsung—The vilest monster yet unhung!

Of all things vile beneath the sky,By night or day that creep or fly;The spider, bedbug, hated louse;Or close-coiled rattler, gnawing mouse;

Of all things vile beneath the sky,

By night or day that creep or fly;

The spider, bedbug, hated louse;

Or close-coiled rattler, gnawing mouse;

The buzzard, skunk, or murderous mink,Hyena mean, whose eye doth blink—Wherever one may rest or wander,The vilest he who breedeth slander.

The buzzard, skunk, or murderous mink,

Hyena mean, whose eye doth blink—

Wherever one may rest or wander,

The vilest he who breedeth slander.

The rattler warns you—jump or run,Or give him battle with stick or gun!The skunk offends you—let him go;He takes his choice ’twixt friend and foe.

The rattler warns you—jump or run,

Or give him battle with stick or gun!

The skunk offends you—let him go;

He takes his choice ’twixt friend and foe.

The blackest buzzards often useSome others’ victim or refuse.Bedbugs—Bah! Such creeping thingsDo basely vex; still we are kings.

The blackest buzzards often use

Some others’ victim or refuse.

Bedbugs—Bah! Such creeping things

Do basely vex; still we are kings.

Hyenas are caged or far away;The mice entrapped by night and day.But Slanderer’s base and slimy wordIs fouler far than beast or bird.

Hyenas are caged or far away;

The mice entrapped by night and day.

But Slanderer’s base and slimy word

Is fouler far than beast or bird.

Infectious doubt injects he first,And defamation’s not his worst;His victim says: “I’m stript of fame;If felon then, I’ll play the game.”

Infectious doubt injects he first,

And defamation’s not his worst;

His victim says: “I’m stript of fame;

If felon then, I’ll play the game.”

Thus some decide; and who may tellThe dirty depths of this fiend of hell?And there he’ll go, upwept, unsung—The vilest monster yet unhung!

Thus some decide; and who may tell

The dirty depths of this fiend of hell?

And there he’ll go, upwept, unsung—

The vilest monster yet unhung!

He made his earth, and scaled his lofty sky;He spread abroad his universal sea;He climbed his visioned mountains, towering high,The cause and course of Wisdom he’d decree.’Gainst man’s accurst and weary, ill-formed world,All rent apart by fools and their divisions,His burning anathemas he ever hurled,His direst doom, and his divine decisions.No other man, through years and cycles run,Was bold enough to say: “God is dead”;Of all great men, philosopher but one,Thyself, alone, and madness seized thy head!O thou, most blatant babbler, Friedrich Nietzsche,How thou didst snuffle—how thou didst sneeze thee!

He made his earth, and scaled his lofty sky;He spread abroad his universal sea;He climbed his visioned mountains, towering high,The cause and course of Wisdom he’d decree.

He made his earth, and scaled his lofty sky;

He spread abroad his universal sea;

He climbed his visioned mountains, towering high,

The cause and course of Wisdom he’d decree.

’Gainst man’s accurst and weary, ill-formed world,All rent apart by fools and their divisions,His burning anathemas he ever hurled,His direst doom, and his divine decisions.

’Gainst man’s accurst and weary, ill-formed world,

All rent apart by fools and their divisions,

His burning anathemas he ever hurled,

His direst doom, and his divine decisions.

No other man, through years and cycles run,Was bold enough to say: “God is dead”;Of all great men, philosopher but one,Thyself, alone, and madness seized thy head!

No other man, through years and cycles run,

Was bold enough to say: “God is dead”;

Of all great men, philosopher but one,

Thyself, alone, and madness seized thy head!

O thou, most blatant babbler, Friedrich Nietzsche,How thou didst snuffle—how thou didst sneeze thee!

O thou, most blatant babbler, Friedrich Nietzsche,

How thou didst snuffle—how thou didst sneeze thee!

NEW RIVER, FORT LAUDERDALE, FLA.Snap Shot by the Author.

Close nestling on thy bosom, all dreamy and serene,Thy charms I feel in all their flood, and never ending scheme;Thy gifts so manifold are of fullest life and love;Contented guests within three live as in the air above.I hear thy praises chorused in the king-fisher’s rattle,In giant alligator sigh, who prefers his peace to battle;He sinks beneath thy bosom in perfect ease and calm,And there within thy shielding heart he sings his grateful psalmThe mullet and the tarpon, the swift and tremulous trout,Dash eagerly to mount thy wave, and lithely splash about,To manifest their joy in thee and their abounding life,So glad bestowed on them by thee, so free from doubtful strife.The mocking-bird and robin both join their sweetest songWith the lowly rune of river flow, alluring, deep and long;The eagle-hawk doth watch thee with close, unblinking eye,And for his profit plunges swift, then soars up toward the sky.The trim blue heron in thy waves doth lave his weary feet;From thy cooling water takes his food and feels himself completeAnd thou art ever ready to let the mallard ride,And comfort, too, the mourning dove, who slumbers by thy side.That charming bird, the cardinal, in his imperial red,Himself in thee doth contemplate, and unto thee is wed.And legion are thy lovers—a noble stream thou art!And all the more thou givest free the richer is thy part.The palm and the palmetto, the lily, dainty sweet,Their homage humbly before thee bring, and lay it at thy feet;The water oak that thirsteth, towering long-leaf pineDrink gratefully thy water pure and sing a praise that’s thine.Ah, way-worn mortals turn to thee to worship and abide;The white winged boats are drawn to thee on every swelling tide;For thru thy whole long journey it’s always give and give—What a multitude of creatures thou dost make to live!At last thyself thou givest wholly to out-spreading bay;It beareth thee to shining sea—how wonderful thy way!With parting kiss to earth, thou risest to thirsty sun,Who praiseth thee and hasteth thee—another race to run.

Close nestling on thy bosom, all dreamy and serene,

Thy charms I feel in all their flood, and never ending scheme;

Thy gifts so manifold are of fullest life and love;

Contented guests within three live as in the air above.

I hear thy praises chorused in the king-fisher’s rattle,In giant alligator sigh, who prefers his peace to battle;He sinks beneath thy bosom in perfect ease and calm,And there within thy shielding heart he sings his grateful psalm

I hear thy praises chorused in the king-fisher’s rattle,

In giant alligator sigh, who prefers his peace to battle;

He sinks beneath thy bosom in perfect ease and calm,

And there within thy shielding heart he sings his grateful psalm

The mullet and the tarpon, the swift and tremulous trout,Dash eagerly to mount thy wave, and lithely splash about,To manifest their joy in thee and their abounding life,So glad bestowed on them by thee, so free from doubtful strife.

The mullet and the tarpon, the swift and tremulous trout,

Dash eagerly to mount thy wave, and lithely splash about,

To manifest their joy in thee and their abounding life,

So glad bestowed on them by thee, so free from doubtful strife.

The mocking-bird and robin both join their sweetest songWith the lowly rune of river flow, alluring, deep and long;The eagle-hawk doth watch thee with close, unblinking eye,And for his profit plunges swift, then soars up toward the sky.

The mocking-bird and robin both join their sweetest song

With the lowly rune of river flow, alluring, deep and long;

The eagle-hawk doth watch thee with close, unblinking eye,

And for his profit plunges swift, then soars up toward the sky.

The trim blue heron in thy waves doth lave his weary feet;From thy cooling water takes his food and feels himself completeAnd thou art ever ready to let the mallard ride,And comfort, too, the mourning dove, who slumbers by thy side.

The trim blue heron in thy waves doth lave his weary feet;

From thy cooling water takes his food and feels himself complete

And thou art ever ready to let the mallard ride,

And comfort, too, the mourning dove, who slumbers by thy side.

That charming bird, the cardinal, in his imperial red,Himself in thee doth contemplate, and unto thee is wed.And legion are thy lovers—a noble stream thou art!And all the more thou givest free the richer is thy part.

That charming bird, the cardinal, in his imperial red,

Himself in thee doth contemplate, and unto thee is wed.

And legion are thy lovers—a noble stream thou art!

And all the more thou givest free the richer is thy part.

The palm and the palmetto, the lily, dainty sweet,Their homage humbly before thee bring, and lay it at thy feet;The water oak that thirsteth, towering long-leaf pineDrink gratefully thy water pure and sing a praise that’s thine.

The palm and the palmetto, the lily, dainty sweet,

Their homage humbly before thee bring, and lay it at thy feet;

The water oak that thirsteth, towering long-leaf pine

Drink gratefully thy water pure and sing a praise that’s thine.

Ah, way-worn mortals turn to thee to worship and abide;The white winged boats are drawn to thee on every swelling tide;For thru thy whole long journey it’s always give and give—What a multitude of creatures thou dost make to live!

Ah, way-worn mortals turn to thee to worship and abide;

The white winged boats are drawn to thee on every swelling tide;

For thru thy whole long journey it’s always give and give—

What a multitude of creatures thou dost make to live!

At last thyself thou givest wholly to out-spreading bay;It beareth thee to shining sea—how wonderful thy way!With parting kiss to earth, thou risest to thirsty sun,Who praiseth thee and hasteth thee—another race to run.

At last thyself thou givest wholly to out-spreading bay;

It beareth thee to shining sea—how wonderful thy way!

With parting kiss to earth, thou risest to thirsty sun,

Who praiseth thee and hasteth thee—another race to run.

The nearest water supply to the Tories’ Den.(See pages 53-55).Photo by Author.

The nearest water supply to the Tories’ Den.

(See pages 53-55).Photo by Author.

The glad wild hills,With rushing rills,Are clothed with glory—The old, old story,Yet new,In the everlasting hills.In mountain majesties,And highborn ecstasies,Fresh strength may be,And balm for meAnd you,In the glad, wild hills.Then in surf and sea,With youthful glee—While waves are dashing,And swimmers splashingAroundIn the ever-changing sea;With wavelets dancing,The tide advancing;Breezes kissing—Ah, no one missingLife’s bound,In the wild waves of the sea.

The glad wild hills,With rushing rills,Are clothed with glory—The old, old story,Yet new,In the everlasting hills.

The glad wild hills,

With rushing rills,

Are clothed with glory—

The old, old story,

Yet new,

In the everlasting hills.

In mountain majesties,And highborn ecstasies,Fresh strength may be,And balm for meAnd you,In the glad, wild hills.

In mountain majesties,

And highborn ecstasies,

Fresh strength may be,

And balm for me

And you,

In the glad, wild hills.

Then in surf and sea,With youthful glee—While waves are dashing,And swimmers splashingAroundIn the ever-changing sea;

Then in surf and sea,

With youthful glee—

While waves are dashing,

And swimmers splashing

Around

In the ever-changing sea;

With wavelets dancing,The tide advancing;Breezes kissing—Ah, no one missingLife’s bound,In the wild waves of the sea.

With wavelets dancing,

The tide advancing;

Breezes kissing—

Ah, no one missing

Life’s bound,

In the wild waves of the sea.

It is beautiful to be young,When youth grows wise at length;It is beautiful to be strong,With gentleness in strength.It is beautiful to grow old,When the heart remaineth young;It is beautiful to be brave,When mercy’s note is sung.It is beautiful to be good,If filled with knowledge true;And service is beautiful,When service maketh new.There is beauty in men’s laugh,When laugh the pure in heart;It is beautiful to be bright,With wit for noblest art.’Tis beautiful to see the sun,And Nature in her courses run;The wild and healing mountains,And overflowing fountains;Her blue unbounded sky,Which oceans glorify—Her silver spray of waterfall;Eternal rocks, both large and small;The heavenly hueOf diamond dew,On sun-kissed flower,In morn’s high hour.Beauteous to see the sunset’s glory;God’s secret read in the deep-laid story;The sleep of butterfly,From death to life and why;Jehovah’s predilection,In every resurrection.How beauteous in music of the stars to lave,With song of the sea from ever rolling wave,And note of woodland thrush,Which gives the heart its hush;Pipe of oriole—O Beauty of the whole!In sweet, divine content,May mortals ever sing,The anthems of the soul,The beauties of the King.Ah, Beauty is for all,If Truth but disenthrall—,O, yes, ’tis Heaven’s plan,For Beauty in the man.

It is beautiful to be young,When youth grows wise at length;It is beautiful to be strong,With gentleness in strength.

It is beautiful to be young,

When youth grows wise at length;

It is beautiful to be strong,

With gentleness in strength.

It is beautiful to grow old,When the heart remaineth young;It is beautiful to be brave,When mercy’s note is sung.

It is beautiful to grow old,

When the heart remaineth young;

It is beautiful to be brave,

When mercy’s note is sung.

It is beautiful to be good,If filled with knowledge true;And service is beautiful,When service maketh new.

It is beautiful to be good,

If filled with knowledge true;

And service is beautiful,

When service maketh new.

There is beauty in men’s laugh,When laugh the pure in heart;It is beautiful to be bright,With wit for noblest art.

There is beauty in men’s laugh,

When laugh the pure in heart;

It is beautiful to be bright,

With wit for noblest art.

’Tis beautiful to see the sun,And Nature in her courses run;The wild and healing mountains,And overflowing fountains;Her blue unbounded sky,Which oceans glorify—

’Tis beautiful to see the sun,

And Nature in her courses run;

The wild and healing mountains,

And overflowing fountains;

Her blue unbounded sky,

Which oceans glorify—

Her silver spray of waterfall;Eternal rocks, both large and small;The heavenly hueOf diamond dew,On sun-kissed flower,In morn’s high hour.

Her silver spray of waterfall;

Eternal rocks, both large and small;

The heavenly hue

Of diamond dew,

On sun-kissed flower,

In morn’s high hour.

Beauteous to see the sunset’s glory;God’s secret read in the deep-laid story;The sleep of butterfly,From death to life and why;Jehovah’s predilection,In every resurrection.

Beauteous to see the sunset’s glory;

God’s secret read in the deep-laid story;

The sleep of butterfly,

From death to life and why;

Jehovah’s predilection,

In every resurrection.

How beauteous in music of the stars to lave,With song of the sea from ever rolling wave,And note of woodland thrush,Which gives the heart its hush;Pipe of oriole—O Beauty of the whole!

How beauteous in music of the stars to lave,

With song of the sea from ever rolling wave,

And note of woodland thrush,

Which gives the heart its hush;

Pipe of oriole—

O Beauty of the whole!

In sweet, divine content,May mortals ever sing,The anthems of the soul,The beauties of the King.

In sweet, divine content,

May mortals ever sing,

The anthems of the soul,

The beauties of the King.

Ah, Beauty is for all,If Truth but disenthrall—,O, yes, ’tis Heaven’s plan,For Beauty in the man.

Ah, Beauty is for all,

If Truth but disenthrall—,

O, yes, ’tis Heaven’s plan,

For Beauty in the man.

Mysterious offspring, rugged son of Fire,Born from the depths before the birth of years,When burdened mothers would not grieve nor tire,And fathers all forbade the cringing fears;But listened there some one with painful ears,And the mighty throes foredoomed some heart to pine.But seen, thy solid form and brow so fine—Ah, then, who dares to feebly pine or mock?Men drink, for forthwith flows a mystic wine,When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.

Mysterious offspring, rugged son of Fire,

Born from the depths before the birth of years,

When burdened mothers would not grieve nor tire,

And fathers all forbade the cringing fears;

But listened there some one with painful ears,

And the mighty throes foredoomed some heart to pine.

But seen, thy solid form and brow so fine—

Ah, then, who dares to feebly pine or mock?

Men drink, for forthwith flows a mystic wine,

When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.

Photo by the Author.

Of mountains round about thee some rise higher,Yet none of them, both near and far, thy peers;And none of them are led to hate and ire;I rather think they greet thee with good cheers;Thy plaudits ring from a multitude of seers,For thou dost serve for all as Nature’s shrine.What cynic looks, and yields his pent-up whine?At once he joins the throng which round thee flock;No mountain, man or god could thee decline,When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.I trust I know and love thy primal Sire,But purer love and lore when twilight clears,When men and I shall climb a nobler spire,And all of hate and horror disappears,With wail and woe of war and cruel spears;When wolf and lamb shall side by side recline—O, be it mine to stand secure, yes mine,Without the thought of harm or deadly shock,In that glad day and time, as ever thine,When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.EnvoyHow humble the stream-fed valleys round thee twine;How praiseful, too, as deep they interlineThy mates so high, more constant than a clock—On thee the very gods come down to dine,When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock!

Of mountains round about thee some rise higher,

Yet none of them, both near and far, thy peers;

And none of them are led to hate and ire;

I rather think they greet thee with good cheers;

Thy plaudits ring from a multitude of seers,

For thou dost serve for all as Nature’s shrine.

What cynic looks, and yields his pent-up whine?

At once he joins the throng which round thee flock;

No mountain, man or god could thee decline,

When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.

I trust I know and love thy primal Sire,But purer love and lore when twilight clears,When men and I shall climb a nobler spire,And all of hate and horror disappears,With wail and woe of war and cruel spears;When wolf and lamb shall side by side recline—O, be it mine to stand secure, yes mine,Without the thought of harm or deadly shock,In that glad day and time, as ever thine,When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.

I trust I know and love thy primal Sire,

But purer love and lore when twilight clears,

When men and I shall climb a nobler spire,

And all of hate and horror disappears,

With wail and woe of war and cruel spears;

When wolf and lamb shall side by side recline—

O, be it mine to stand secure, yes mine,

Without the thought of harm or deadly shock,

In that glad day and time, as ever thine,

When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.

Envoy

How humble the stream-fed valleys round thee twine;How praiseful, too, as deep they interlineThy mates so high, more constant than a clock—On thee the very gods come down to dine,When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock!

How humble the stream-fed valleys round thee twine;

How praiseful, too, as deep they interline

Thy mates so high, more constant than a clock—

On thee the very gods come down to dine,

When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock!

While reaching for sixty I played a child’s game,But I leaped to the front in the elephant dance.From earliest years overlooked by Fame,While reaching for sixty I played a child’s game.Old dignified friends, who are more or less lame,Think me monstrous and strange, in search of mischance—While reaching for sixty I played a child’s game,But I leaped to the front in the elephant dance.

While reaching for sixty I played a child’s game,

But I leaped to the front in the elephant dance.

From earliest years overlooked by Fame,

While reaching for sixty I played a child’s game.

Old dignified friends, who are more or less lame,

Think me monstrous and strange, in search of mischance—

While reaching for sixty I played a child’s game,

But I leaped to the front in the elephant dance.

We long for thy kingdom, O little child,Thy kingdom of trust with a reign so mild;No soaring eagle e’er mounted such crest,As thou, high enthroned on thy fond mother’s breast;And, like the sweet song of some innocent birdThy cooing is Love reaching after a word.

We long for thy kingdom, O little child,

Thy kingdom of trust with a reign so mild;

No soaring eagle e’er mounted such crest,

As thou, high enthroned on thy fond mother’s breast;

And, like the sweet song of some innocent bird

Thy cooing is Love reaching after a word.

Old Ship Church, (First Parish), Hingham, Mass., built in 1681, said to be the oldest church in the United States, where continuous services have been held.

Be mine thy throb of pulsing heart, Old Ship,When sermon, song and prayer were wont to holdAnd guide the fathers, pioneers of old;The men who held the truth with steadfast grip—Thine own appeal to God from heart and lip,Inspired by earnest men, who ne’er cajoled,Who sang their hymns within that saintly fold,With all their worship free from vulgar slip.Old Ship, the Church, that made the ship of State,Who trained aright thy maidens and thy lads,And lived thy simple life, all free from fads,Thou madest America beloved and great.Sail on, Old Ship, and sweep the farthest sea,And save the souls of men eternally.

Be mine thy throb of pulsing heart, Old Ship,When sermon, song and prayer were wont to holdAnd guide the fathers, pioneers of old;The men who held the truth with steadfast grip—

Be mine thy throb of pulsing heart, Old Ship,

When sermon, song and prayer were wont to hold

And guide the fathers, pioneers of old;

The men who held the truth with steadfast grip—

Thine own appeal to God from heart and lip,Inspired by earnest men, who ne’er cajoled,Who sang their hymns within that saintly fold,With all their worship free from vulgar slip.

Thine own appeal to God from heart and lip,

Inspired by earnest men, who ne’er cajoled,

Who sang their hymns within that saintly fold,

With all their worship free from vulgar slip.

Old Ship, the Church, that made the ship of State,Who trained aright thy maidens and thy lads,And lived thy simple life, all free from fads,Thou madest America beloved and great.Sail on, Old Ship, and sweep the farthest sea,And save the souls of men eternally.

Old Ship, the Church, that made the ship of State,

Who trained aright thy maidens and thy lads,

And lived thy simple life, all free from fads,

Thou madest America beloved and great.

Sail on, Old Ship, and sweep the farthest sea,

And save the souls of men eternally.

Here’s to the fellows who scribble with pen,A busy and buoyant bunch of expert men;They tell what’s what, and what the thing is for,From a woman’s hair pin to a world-wide war.

Here’s to the fellows who scribble with pen,

A busy and buoyant bunch of expert men;

They tell what’s what, and what the thing is for,

From a woman’s hair pin to a world-wide war.

What word among the sons of menSo uppermost as mother?What soothing carol ever sungSo musical as mother?What poem ever came from pen,So comforting as mother?What acme of our human tongueSo eloquent as mother?Answer, deed of fondest lover,Answer, men of boasted creed;Who or what may rise above her—If she be a mother indeed?

What word among the sons of men

So uppermost as mother?

What soothing carol ever sung

So musical as mother?

What poem ever came from pen,

So comforting as mother?

What acme of our human tongue

So eloquent as mother?

Answer, deed of fondest lover,Answer, men of boasted creed;Who or what may rise above her—If she be a mother indeed?

Answer, deed of fondest lover,

Answer, men of boasted creed;

Who or what may rise above her—

If she be a mother indeed?

Give me the man that’s trustful and bright,The man with a soul and a heart that’s right,Who laughs at trouble and is always cheery;And one such man is Nathan O’Berry.When friends come around, or gloomy or sad,And another along both worried and mad,Just watch those fellows, as all grow merry,In company with brave Nathan O’Berry.When the stream gets high and a man must cross,Yet he knows not how, without serious loss,There’s one to be found with his good old ferryTo carry him over, ’tis Nathan O’Berry.He’s a man who gives for the love of giving;’Tis Heaven’s sweet way—high loving and living—The man whose wife in her heart calls “deary”—Ah, bless the Lord for Nathan O’Berry!

Give me the man that’s trustful and bright,The man with a soul and a heart that’s right,Who laughs at trouble and is always cheery;And one such man is Nathan O’Berry.

Give me the man that’s trustful and bright,

The man with a soul and a heart that’s right,

Who laughs at trouble and is always cheery;

And one such man is Nathan O’Berry.

When friends come around, or gloomy or sad,And another along both worried and mad,Just watch those fellows, as all grow merry,In company with brave Nathan O’Berry.

When friends come around, or gloomy or sad,

And another along both worried and mad,

Just watch those fellows, as all grow merry,

In company with brave Nathan O’Berry.

When the stream gets high and a man must cross,Yet he knows not how, without serious loss,There’s one to be found with his good old ferryTo carry him over, ’tis Nathan O’Berry.

When the stream gets high and a man must cross,

Yet he knows not how, without serious loss,

There’s one to be found with his good old ferry

To carry him over, ’tis Nathan O’Berry.

He’s a man who gives for the love of giving;’Tis Heaven’s sweet way—high loving and living—The man whose wife in her heart calls “deary”—Ah, bless the Lord for Nathan O’Berry!

He’s a man who gives for the love of giving;

’Tis Heaven’s sweet way—high loving and living—

The man whose wife in her heart calls “deary”—

Ah, bless the Lord for Nathan O’Berry!

Photo by T. P. Robinson, Orlando, Fla.

(Based on what was seen around the home of Bishop Cameron Mann, Orlando, Fla.)

“Come into my garden,” said the Bishop unto me;’Tis the greatest little garden that ever you may see.Behold a sturdy phalanx of the giant bamboo,Which defends the garden’s side in valiant line and true,And yonder bunch of bamboo is the prouder Japanese,The equal in beauty of the trimmest of the trees.“My delight is in the palm, the pride of sunny tropics,The tree in all Nature for the poet’s varied topics;I here have them all but the gorgeous royal palm—King Frost is oft unfriendly to his majesty’s balm.“And consider, if you please, that rare Australian Oak,Standing there so lonely, like the greatest of the folk;And the other generous fellow, the noble camphor tree,Gives peace and health and hope to many a bird and me.“I am sure you must admire my good Banhania plant,With all the grace and beauty which she doth ever grant;She’s not unlike a mother who must protect her own;Her buds she close infolds when dangers are fore-known.“My lovely Jacaranda changes Nature’s plan,As the unlike woman, or like the wilful man,The blossoms coming first, its verdant foliage last,But its loveliness in May time will hold you firm and fast.“And see the running roses, hugging close my home;They clasp my heart so sweetly that it never more may roam.Burbank has none that’s better than my purest Cherokee,With its dainty white so spotless, and his naive simplicity.“And here is the Phevitia, and there the Bottle Brush,The Myrtle bloom so solemn, and now I can but blush—The Holy Spirit’s plant, my very humblest flower,That worships the gracious Father from his lowly bower.“Now take your fill of orange, of grape-fruit and of lime;Your choice, sir, of the kumquat, or the loquart in its prime.”“Oh, my good sir,” cried I, with gladdest heart and head,“’Tis Heaven’s own ante-chamber, this brightest Bishop-stead.”

“Come into my garden,” said the Bishop unto me;

’Tis the greatest little garden that ever you may see.

Behold a sturdy phalanx of the giant bamboo,

Which defends the garden’s side in valiant line and true,

And yonder bunch of bamboo is the prouder Japanese,

The equal in beauty of the trimmest of the trees.

“My delight is in the palm, the pride of sunny tropics,The tree in all Nature for the poet’s varied topics;I here have them all but the gorgeous royal palm—King Frost is oft unfriendly to his majesty’s balm.

“My delight is in the palm, the pride of sunny tropics,

The tree in all Nature for the poet’s varied topics;

I here have them all but the gorgeous royal palm—

King Frost is oft unfriendly to his majesty’s balm.

“And consider, if you please, that rare Australian Oak,Standing there so lonely, like the greatest of the folk;And the other generous fellow, the noble camphor tree,Gives peace and health and hope to many a bird and me.

“And consider, if you please, that rare Australian Oak,

Standing there so lonely, like the greatest of the folk;

And the other generous fellow, the noble camphor tree,

Gives peace and health and hope to many a bird and me.

“I am sure you must admire my good Banhania plant,With all the grace and beauty which she doth ever grant;She’s not unlike a mother who must protect her own;Her buds she close infolds when dangers are fore-known.

“I am sure you must admire my good Banhania plant,

With all the grace and beauty which she doth ever grant;

She’s not unlike a mother who must protect her own;

Her buds she close infolds when dangers are fore-known.

“My lovely Jacaranda changes Nature’s plan,As the unlike woman, or like the wilful man,The blossoms coming first, its verdant foliage last,But its loveliness in May time will hold you firm and fast.

“My lovely Jacaranda changes Nature’s plan,

As the unlike woman, or like the wilful man,

The blossoms coming first, its verdant foliage last,

But its loveliness in May time will hold you firm and fast.

“And see the running roses, hugging close my home;They clasp my heart so sweetly that it never more may roam.Burbank has none that’s better than my purest Cherokee,With its dainty white so spotless, and his naive simplicity.

“And see the running roses, hugging close my home;

They clasp my heart so sweetly that it never more may roam.

Burbank has none that’s better than my purest Cherokee,

With its dainty white so spotless, and his naive simplicity.

“And here is the Phevitia, and there the Bottle Brush,The Myrtle bloom so solemn, and now I can but blush—The Holy Spirit’s plant, my very humblest flower,That worships the gracious Father from his lowly bower.

“And here is the Phevitia, and there the Bottle Brush,

The Myrtle bloom so solemn, and now I can but blush—

The Holy Spirit’s plant, my very humblest flower,

That worships the gracious Father from his lowly bower.

“Now take your fill of orange, of grape-fruit and of lime;Your choice, sir, of the kumquat, or the loquart in its prime.”“Oh, my good sir,” cried I, with gladdest heart and head,“’Tis Heaven’s own ante-chamber, this brightest Bishop-stead.”

“Now take your fill of orange, of grape-fruit and of lime;

Your choice, sir, of the kumquat, or the loquart in its prime.”

“Oh, my good sir,” cried I, with gladdest heart and head,

“’Tis Heaven’s own ante-chamber, this brightest Bishop-stead.”

Because you like a triolet,And joy of youth and love and life,Ah sure, the child you’ll not forgetBecause you like a triolet.Then soon, ah soon, your wits you’ll whet,And do your best to get a wife,Because you like a triolet,And joy of youth and love and life.

Because you like a triolet,

And joy of youth and love and life,

Ah sure, the child you’ll not forget

Because you like a triolet.

Then soon, ah soon, your wits you’ll whet,

And do your best to get a wife,

Because you like a triolet,

And joy of youth and love and life.

Photo by the Author.

Ye bonny boys, and fellows brave,Who ever shun grim Death’s decoys,And all the habits that enslaveYe bonny boys.So play with duties as with toys,The higher heights sincerely crave,Conscious of being the King’s envoys.Yes, rise on care as cork on wave,And climb and climb to nobler joys;Yet richest heritage, what ye gave,Ye bonny boys.

Ye bonny boys, and fellows brave,Who ever shun grim Death’s decoys,And all the habits that enslaveYe bonny boys.

Ye bonny boys, and fellows brave,

Who ever shun grim Death’s decoys,

And all the habits that enslave

Ye bonny boys.

So play with duties as with toys,The higher heights sincerely crave,Conscious of being the King’s envoys.

So play with duties as with toys,

The higher heights sincerely crave,

Conscious of being the King’s envoys.

Yes, rise on care as cork on wave,And climb and climb to nobler joys;Yet richest heritage, what ye gave,Ye bonny boys.

Yes, rise on care as cork on wave,

And climb and climb to nobler joys;

Yet richest heritage, what ye gave,

Ye bonny boys.

Away with frowns—away with groans!And give me the girls who are glad and free;For the wails of woman, they weaken my bones,And make of a man a quick refugee;Or else he retorts with a sharp repartee.And give me the smiles of joy and beauty,The fellowship joined in a long jubilee—Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.It costs but a little to make such loans,And dunce is the man who dares disagree.They’re better than riches and glittering thrones;They’re better for all and better for thee.Then scatter the smiles from sea to sea,Less fleeting than fame and more than booty.O give me the ones in perpetual glee,Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.The wise man his frowns ever gladly postpones,And gives of his strength to you and to me;His sorrow and woe he forever disowns—The mortal like him treads a Heaven-lit lea,And the out-lying goal is pleasant to see.The fellow that frowns is ugly and sooty;Ah, save me from him, for the good guarantee,Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.EnvoyAll praise to the girls who are busy as a bee,But fie to the man who’s stoney and rooty;And the fellow as well who’s too fond of his fee—Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

Away with frowns—away with groans!

And give me the girls who are glad and free;

For the wails of woman, they weaken my bones,

And make of a man a quick refugee;

Or else he retorts with a sharp repartee.

And give me the smiles of joy and beauty,

The fellowship joined in a long jubilee—

Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

It costs but a little to make such loans,And dunce is the man who dares disagree.They’re better than riches and glittering thrones;They’re better for all and better for thee.Then scatter the smiles from sea to sea,Less fleeting than fame and more than booty.O give me the ones in perpetual glee,Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

It costs but a little to make such loans,

And dunce is the man who dares disagree.

They’re better than riches and glittering thrones;

They’re better for all and better for thee.

Then scatter the smiles from sea to sea,

Less fleeting than fame and more than booty.

O give me the ones in perpetual glee,

Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

The wise man his frowns ever gladly postpones,And gives of his strength to you and to me;His sorrow and woe he forever disowns—The mortal like him treads a Heaven-lit lea,And the out-lying goal is pleasant to see.The fellow that frowns is ugly and sooty;Ah, save me from him, for the good guarantee,Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

The wise man his frowns ever gladly postpones,

And gives of his strength to you and to me;

His sorrow and woe he forever disowns—

The mortal like him treads a Heaven-lit lea,

And the out-lying goal is pleasant to see.

The fellow that frowns is ugly and sooty;

Ah, save me from him, for the good guarantee,

Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

Envoy

All praise to the girls who are busy as a bee,But fie to the man who’s stoney and rooty;And the fellow as well who’s too fond of his fee—Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

All praise to the girls who are busy as a bee,

But fie to the man who’s stoney and rooty;

And the fellow as well who’s too fond of his fee—

Yes, the girls who live for love and duty.

Escaping the town with its dust and din,A wayfarer was asked to come withinA lovely home on a mountain height,To rest awhile and be sated with sightOf the beauties within and glories without,That ever encircle far-famed Lookout.From city to summit the walk was far,But gliding along in the trolley car,Forsaking the valley and climbing the side,The city was distanced in a two-fold stride;Its smoke rolled beneath, its din died away,With toilers’ tramp at the closing day.

Escaping the town with its dust and din,

A wayfarer was asked to come within

A lovely home on a mountain height,

To rest awhile and be sated with sight

Of the beauties within and glories without,

That ever encircle far-famed Lookout.

From city to summit the walk was far,But gliding along in the trolley car,Forsaking the valley and climbing the side,The city was distanced in a two-fold stride;Its smoke rolled beneath, its din died away,With toilers’ tramp at the closing day.

From city to summit the walk was far,

But gliding along in the trolley car,

Forsaking the valley and climbing the side,

The city was distanced in a two-fold stride;

Its smoke rolled beneath, its din died away,

With toilers’ tramp at the closing day.

Part of Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain.

This home was “La Brisa;” for pure mountain airPlayed around its sides and its frontage fair,Uplifting yet higher the travel-worn guest,As he feasted to the full, and enjoyed sweet rest;While music came forth and fellowship flowed—With lofty delights the company glowed.The low-lying city became all ablazeWith myriad lights and their countless rays,The moon and the stars were reigning above,While far-twinkling lights threw kisses of loveTo wayfarer and friends, caught up betweenThe city of light and the heavens serene.Ah, ’tis mountain top views that enrich the dull earth,Where high hopes and deeds have divinest birth;Where Abram and Moses and prophets of oldThe evil and good, yea the best foretold.And men even now must mount the high hillsTo inspire them beneath with conquering wills.Here the church up-rose and “the old ship of State,”Here angels meet men that listen and wait;The King from his throne will deign to come downTo acclaim his own, and with glory crownThe soul sincere, who cries from his heartFor some new song—some high born art.At last the dust and the din of earth’s wayWill shine in rapture of our toiling day;The narrow path trod, the rugged way too,Will glow with a beauty we never knew,In the coming new Morn on the Mountain fair,Translated with Christ in his glorified air.

This home was “La Brisa;” for pure mountain air

Played around its sides and its frontage fair,

Uplifting yet higher the travel-worn guest,

As he feasted to the full, and enjoyed sweet rest;

While music came forth and fellowship flowed—

With lofty delights the company glowed.

The low-lying city became all ablazeWith myriad lights and their countless rays,The moon and the stars were reigning above,While far-twinkling lights threw kisses of loveTo wayfarer and friends, caught up betweenThe city of light and the heavens serene.

The low-lying city became all ablaze

With myriad lights and their countless rays,

The moon and the stars were reigning above,

While far-twinkling lights threw kisses of love

To wayfarer and friends, caught up between

The city of light and the heavens serene.

Ah, ’tis mountain top views that enrich the dull earth,Where high hopes and deeds have divinest birth;Where Abram and Moses and prophets of oldThe evil and good, yea the best foretold.And men even now must mount the high hillsTo inspire them beneath with conquering wills.

Ah, ’tis mountain top views that enrich the dull earth,

Where high hopes and deeds have divinest birth;

Where Abram and Moses and prophets of old

The evil and good, yea the best foretold.

And men even now must mount the high hills

To inspire them beneath with conquering wills.

Here the church up-rose and “the old ship of State,”Here angels meet men that listen and wait;The King from his throne will deign to come downTo acclaim his own, and with glory crownThe soul sincere, who cries from his heartFor some new song—some high born art.

Here the church up-rose and “the old ship of State,”

Here angels meet men that listen and wait;

The King from his throne will deign to come down

To acclaim his own, and with glory crown

The soul sincere, who cries from his heart

For some new song—some high born art.

At last the dust and the din of earth’s wayWill shine in rapture of our toiling day;The narrow path trod, the rugged way too,Will glow with a beauty we never knew,In the coming new Morn on the Mountain fair,Translated with Christ in his glorified air.

At last the dust and the din of earth’s way

Will shine in rapture of our toiling day;

The narrow path trod, the rugged way too,

Will glow with a beauty we never knew,

In the coming new Morn on the Mountain fair,

Translated with Christ in his glorified air.

Your smiles and love you freely lend—How old are you, my jolly friend?“Just seventy-three; but pray don’t tell;A widower I, out for a spell.The pretty girls, I love them all;They bounce my heart like a rubber ball;One moment I rise and the next I fall—I cannot help it.”“I loved my wife who’s dead and gone,In the distant days my paragon—She used to say, ‘O quit your looking,’But in spite of her, my neck kept crookingAround to feast upon the lovely face,The perfect figure full of grace—It never seemed to me so base—I told my wife, sir;I couldn’t help it.”“If God himself told me to quit it,I’d say, O slay me! or else permit it.The smiling face, the enchanting eye,The rosy cheek of the maiden shy—They grip me, sir, with hooks of steel;My eyes run fast; my brain will reel,And my heart will feel—Frankly, sir, I cannot help it.”“’Tis true, my teeth went long ago;Now painless ones I have, you know.Yet I visit oft in my tar-heel townA store and a girl in a showy gown,To buy her gum and soothing smile;You scarce believe me, it’s many a mileI thus have trod with loving guile—And one day laughing my teeth fell down,In her presence, sir,I could not help it.”“That winsome girl who serves our table—I vow that I am quite unableTo keep my eyes from following her,As tail doth horse, ’neath whip and spur;I’m honest sir;I cannot help it.“My little dog—he’s just a fice—Returns my love, his paradise.I brought him down to Florida;But the finest dog in all AmericaCan’t take the place of a girl so sweet—From crown to sole of her dainty feet,My love’s complete—And, it’s all the truth, sir,I cannot help it.”“Just seventy-three—’Tis plenty for me,I wish it were less,But nevertheless this girl of eighteenCould rule me as queen;And have all I possess,For her sweetest caress—Sir, by the Lord and His goodness,I cannot help it!”

Your smiles and love you freely lend—

How old are you, my jolly friend?

“Just seventy-three; but pray don’t tell;

A widower I, out for a spell.

The pretty girls, I love them all;

They bounce my heart like a rubber ball;

One moment I rise and the next I fall—

I cannot help it.”

“I loved my wife who’s dead and gone,In the distant days my paragon—She used to say, ‘O quit your looking,’But in spite of her, my neck kept crookingAround to feast upon the lovely face,The perfect figure full of grace—It never seemed to me so base—I told my wife, sir;I couldn’t help it.”

“I loved my wife who’s dead and gone,

In the distant days my paragon—

She used to say, ‘O quit your looking,’

But in spite of her, my neck kept crooking

Around to feast upon the lovely face,

The perfect figure full of grace—

It never seemed to me so base—

I told my wife, sir;

I couldn’t help it.”

“If God himself told me to quit it,I’d say, O slay me! or else permit it.The smiling face, the enchanting eye,The rosy cheek of the maiden shy—They grip me, sir, with hooks of steel;My eyes run fast; my brain will reel,And my heart will feel—Frankly, sir, I cannot help it.”

“If God himself told me to quit it,

I’d say, O slay me! or else permit it.

The smiling face, the enchanting eye,

The rosy cheek of the maiden shy—

They grip me, sir, with hooks of steel;

My eyes run fast; my brain will reel,

And my heart will feel—

Frankly, sir, I cannot help it.”

“’Tis true, my teeth went long ago;Now painless ones I have, you know.Yet I visit oft in my tar-heel townA store and a girl in a showy gown,To buy her gum and soothing smile;You scarce believe me, it’s many a mileI thus have trod with loving guile—And one day laughing my teeth fell down,In her presence, sir,I could not help it.”

“’Tis true, my teeth went long ago;

Now painless ones I have, you know.

Yet I visit oft in my tar-heel town

A store and a girl in a showy gown,

To buy her gum and soothing smile;

You scarce believe me, it’s many a mile

I thus have trod with loving guile—

And one day laughing my teeth fell down,

In her presence, sir,

I could not help it.”

“That winsome girl who serves our table—I vow that I am quite unableTo keep my eyes from following her,As tail doth horse, ’neath whip and spur;I’m honest sir;I cannot help it.

“That winsome girl who serves our table—

I vow that I am quite unable

To keep my eyes from following her,

As tail doth horse, ’neath whip and spur;

I’m honest sir;

I cannot help it.

“My little dog—he’s just a fice—Returns my love, his paradise.I brought him down to Florida;But the finest dog in all AmericaCan’t take the place of a girl so sweet—From crown to sole of her dainty feet,My love’s complete—And, it’s all the truth, sir,I cannot help it.”

“My little dog—he’s just a fice—

Returns my love, his paradise.

I brought him down to Florida;

But the finest dog in all America

Can’t take the place of a girl so sweet—

From crown to sole of her dainty feet,

My love’s complete—

And, it’s all the truth, sir,

I cannot help it.”

“Just seventy-three—’Tis plenty for me,I wish it were less,But nevertheless this girl of eighteenCould rule me as queen;And have all I possess,For her sweetest caress—Sir, by the Lord and His goodness,I cannot help it!”

“Just seventy-three—

’Tis plenty for me,

I wish it were less,

But nevertheless this girl of eighteen

Could rule me as queen;

And have all I possess,

For her sweetest caress—

Sir, by the Lord and His goodness,

I cannot help it!”

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