TILL THE WIND GETS RIGHTOh the breeze is blowin' balmyAn the sun is in a haze;There's a cloud jest givin' coolnessTo the laziest of days.There are crowds upon the lakeside,But the fish refuse to bite,So I'll wait and go a-fishin'When the wind gets right.Now my boat tugs at her anchor,Eager now to kiss the spray,While the little waves are callin'Drowsy sailor come away,There's a harbor for the happy,And its sheen is just in sight,But I won't set sail to get there,Till the wind gets right.That's my trouble, too, I reckon,I've been waitin' all too long,Tho' the days were alwaysStill the wind is always wrong.An' when Gabriel blows his trumpet,In the day o' in the night,I will still be found waitin',Till the wind gets right.
Oh the breeze is blowin' balmyAn the sun is in a haze;There's a cloud jest givin' coolnessTo the laziest of days.There are crowds upon the lakeside,But the fish refuse to bite,So I'll wait and go a-fishin'When the wind gets right.
Oh the breeze is blowin' balmy
An the sun is in a haze;
There's a cloud jest givin' coolness
To the laziest of days.
There are crowds upon the lakeside,
But the fish refuse to bite,
So I'll wait and go a-fishin'
When the wind gets right.
Now my boat tugs at her anchor,Eager now to kiss the spray,While the little waves are callin'Drowsy sailor come away,There's a harbor for the happy,And its sheen is just in sight,But I won't set sail to get there,Till the wind gets right.
Now my boat tugs at her anchor,
Eager now to kiss the spray,
While the little waves are callin'
Drowsy sailor come away,
There's a harbor for the happy,
And its sheen is just in sight,
But I won't set sail to get there,
Till the wind gets right.
That's my trouble, too, I reckon,I've been waitin' all too long,Tho' the days were alwaysStill the wind is always wrong.An' when Gabriel blows his trumpet,In the day o' in the night,I will still be found waitin',Till the wind gets right.
That's my trouble, too, I reckon,
I've been waitin' all too long,
Tho' the days were always
Still the wind is always wrong.
An' when Gabriel blows his trumpet,
In the day o' in the night,
I will still be found waitin',
Till the wind gets right.
A SUMMER NIGHTSummah is de lovin' time—Do' keer what you say.Night is allus peart an' prime,Bettah dan de day.Do de day is sweet an' good,Birds a-singin' fine,Pines a-smellin' in de wood,—But de night is mine.Rivah whisperin' "howdy do,"Ez it pass you by—Moon a-lookin' down at you,Winkin' on de sly.Frogs a-croakin' f'om de pon',Singin' bass dey fill,An' you listen way beyon'Ol' man whippo'will.Hush up, honey, tek my han'Mek yo' footsteps light;Somep'n' kin' o' hol's de lan'On a summah night.Somep'n' dat you nevah seesAn' you nevah hyeahs,But you feels it in de breeze,Somep'n' nigh to teahs.Somep'n' nigh to teahs? dat's so;But hit's nigh to smiles.An' you feels it ez you goDown de shinin' miles.Tek my han', my little dove;Hush an' come erway—Summah is de time fu' love,Night-time beats de day!
Summah is de lovin' time—Do' keer what you say.Night is allus peart an' prime,Bettah dan de day.Do de day is sweet an' good,Birds a-singin' fine,Pines a-smellin' in de wood,—But de night is mine.
Summah is de lovin' time—
Do' keer what you say.
Night is allus peart an' prime,
Bettah dan de day.
Do de day is sweet an' good,
Birds a-singin' fine,
Pines a-smellin' in de wood,—
But de night is mine.
Rivah whisperin' "howdy do,"Ez it pass you by—Moon a-lookin' down at you,Winkin' on de sly.Frogs a-croakin' f'om de pon',Singin' bass dey fill,An' you listen way beyon'Ol' man whippo'will.
Rivah whisperin' "howdy do,"
Ez it pass you by—
Moon a-lookin' down at you,
Winkin' on de sly.
Frogs a-croakin' f'om de pon',
Singin' bass dey fill,
An' you listen way beyon'
Ol' man whippo'will.
Hush up, honey, tek my han'Mek yo' footsteps light;Somep'n' kin' o' hol's de lan'On a summah night.Somep'n' dat you nevah seesAn' you nevah hyeahs,But you feels it in de breeze,Somep'n' nigh to teahs.
Hush up, honey, tek my han'
Mek yo' footsteps light;
Somep'n' kin' o' hol's de lan'
On a summah night.
Somep'n' dat you nevah sees
An' you nevah hyeahs,
But you feels it in de breeze,
Somep'n' nigh to teahs.
Somep'n' nigh to teahs? dat's so;But hit's nigh to smiles.An' you feels it ez you goDown de shinin' miles.Tek my han', my little dove;Hush an' come erway—Summah is de time fu' love,Night-time beats de day!
Somep'n' nigh to teahs? dat's so;
But hit's nigh to smiles.
An' you feels it ez you go
Down de shinin' miles.
Tek my han', my little dove;
Hush an' come erway—
Summah is de time fu' love,
Night-time beats de day!
AT SUNSET TIMEAdown the west a golden glowSinks burning in the sea,And all the dreams of long agoCome flooding back to me.The past has writ a story strangeUpon my aching heart,But time has wrought a subtle change,My wounds have ceased to smart.No more the quick delight of youth,No more the sudden pain,I look no more for trust or truthWhere greed may compass gain.What, was it I who bared my heartThrough unrelenting years,And knew the sting of misery's dart,The tang of sorrow's tears?'Tis better now, I do not weep,I do not laugh nor care;My soul and spirit half asleepDrift aimless everywhere.We float upon a sluggish stream,We ride no rapids mad,While life is all a tempered dreamAnd every joy half sad.
Adown the west a golden glowSinks burning in the sea,And all the dreams of long agoCome flooding back to me.The past has writ a story strangeUpon my aching heart,But time has wrought a subtle change,My wounds have ceased to smart.
Adown the west a golden glow
Sinks burning in the sea,
And all the dreams of long ago
Come flooding back to me.
The past has writ a story strange
Upon my aching heart,
But time has wrought a subtle change,
My wounds have ceased to smart.
No more the quick delight of youth,No more the sudden pain,I look no more for trust or truthWhere greed may compass gain.What, was it I who bared my heartThrough unrelenting years,And knew the sting of misery's dart,The tang of sorrow's tears?
No more the quick delight of youth,
No more the sudden pain,
I look no more for trust or truth
Where greed may compass gain.
What, was it I who bared my heart
Through unrelenting years,
And knew the sting of misery's dart,
The tang of sorrow's tears?
'Tis better now, I do not weep,I do not laugh nor care;My soul and spirit half asleepDrift aimless everywhere.We float upon a sluggish stream,We ride no rapids mad,While life is all a tempered dreamAnd every joy half sad.
'Tis better now, I do not weep,
I do not laugh nor care;
My soul and spirit half asleep
Drift aimless everywhere.
We float upon a sluggish stream,
We ride no rapids mad,
While life is all a tempered dream
And every joy half sad.
NIGHTSilence, and whirling worlds afarThrough all encircling skies.What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,What wondrous thoughts arise.The earth, a mantle falls away,And, winged, we leave the sod;Where shines in its eternal swayThe majesty of God.
Silence, and whirling worlds afarThrough all encircling skies.What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,What wondrous thoughts arise.
Silence, and whirling worlds afar
Through all encircling skies.
What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,
What wondrous thoughts arise.
The earth, a mantle falls away,And, winged, we leave the sod;Where shines in its eternal swayThe majesty of God.
The earth, a mantle falls away,
And, winged, we leave the sod;
Where shines in its eternal sway
The majesty of God.
AT LOAFING-HOLTSince I left the city's heatFor this sylvan, cool retreat,High upon the hill-side hereWhere the air is clean and clear,I have lost the urban ways.Mine are calm and tranquil days,Sloping lawns of green are mine,Clustered treasures of the vine;Long forgotten plants I know,Where the best wild berries grow,Where the greens and grasses sprout,When the elders blossom out.Now I am grown weather-wiseWith the lore of winds and skies.Mine the song whose soft refrainIs the sigh of summer rain.Seek you where the woods are cool,Would you know the shady poolWhere, throughout the lazy day,Speckled beauties drowse or play?Would you find in rest or peaceSorrow's permanent release?—Leave the city, grim and gray,Come with me, ah, come away.Do you fear the winter chill,Deeps of snow upon the hill?'Tis a mantle, kind and warm,Shielding tender shoots from harm.Do you dread the ice-clad streams,—They are mirrors for your dreams.Here's a rouse, when summer's pastTo the raging winter's blast.Let him roar and let him rout,We are armored for the bout.How the logs are glowing, see!Who sings louder, they or he?Could the city be more gay?Burn your bridges! Come away!
Since I left the city's heatFor this sylvan, cool retreat,High upon the hill-side hereWhere the air is clean and clear,I have lost the urban ways.Mine are calm and tranquil days,Sloping lawns of green are mine,Clustered treasures of the vine;Long forgotten plants I know,Where the best wild berries grow,Where the greens and grasses sprout,When the elders blossom out.Now I am grown weather-wiseWith the lore of winds and skies.Mine the song whose soft refrainIs the sigh of summer rain.Seek you where the woods are cool,Would you know the shady poolWhere, throughout the lazy day,Speckled beauties drowse or play?Would you find in rest or peaceSorrow's permanent release?—Leave the city, grim and gray,Come with me, ah, come away.Do you fear the winter chill,Deeps of snow upon the hill?'Tis a mantle, kind and warm,Shielding tender shoots from harm.Do you dread the ice-clad streams,—They are mirrors for your dreams.Here's a rouse, when summer's pastTo the raging winter's blast.Let him roar and let him rout,We are armored for the bout.How the logs are glowing, see!Who sings louder, they or he?Could the city be more gay?Burn your bridges! Come away!
Since I left the city's heat
For this sylvan, cool retreat,
High upon the hill-side here
Where the air is clean and clear,
I have lost the urban ways.
Mine are calm and tranquil days,
Sloping lawns of green are mine,
Clustered treasures of the vine;
Long forgotten plants I know,
Where the best wild berries grow,
Where the greens and grasses sprout,
When the elders blossom out.
Now I am grown weather-wise
With the lore of winds and skies.
Mine the song whose soft refrain
Is the sigh of summer rain.
Seek you where the woods are cool,
Would you know the shady pool
Where, throughout the lazy day,
Speckled beauties drowse or play?
Would you find in rest or peace
Sorrow's permanent release?—
Leave the city, grim and gray,
Come with me, ah, come away.
Do you fear the winter chill,
Deeps of snow upon the hill?
'Tis a mantle, kind and warm,
Shielding tender shoots from harm.
Do you dread the ice-clad streams,—
They are mirrors for your dreams.
Here's a rouse, when summer's past
To the raging winter's blast.
Let him roar and let him rout,
We are armored for the bout.
How the logs are glowing, see!
Who sings louder, they or he?
Could the city be more gay?
Burn your bridges! Come away!
WHEN A FELLER'S ITCHIN' TO BE SPANKEDW'en us fellers stomp around, makin' lots o' noise,Gramma says, "There's certain times come to little boysW'en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;"She says "we're a-itchin' for a right good spank."An' she says, "Now thes you wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,W'en a feller's itchin' fer a spank."W'en a feller's out o' school, you know how he feels,Gramma says we wriggle 'roun' like a lot o' eels.W'y it's like a man that's thes home from out o' jail.What's the use o' scoldin' if we pull Tray's tail?Gramma says, tho', "Thes you wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,You'se the boys that's itchin' to be spanked."Cats is funny creatures an' I like to make 'em yowl,Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowlAn' she says, "Young gentlemen, mamma should be thankedEf you'd get your knickerbockers right well spanked."An' she says, "Now thes you wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,"When a feller's itchin' to be spanked.Ef you fin' the days is gettin' awful hot in schoolAn' you know a swimmin' place where it's nice and cool,Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin' full o' fish,Whose a-goin' to set around school and wish?'Tain't no use to hide your bait,It's a-comin,—soon or late,Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.Ol' folks know most ever'thing 'bout the world, I guess,Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less,But I alwus kind o' think it 'ud be as wellEf they wouldn't alwus have to up an' tell;We kids wish 'at they'd thes wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
W'en us fellers stomp around, makin' lots o' noise,Gramma says, "There's certain times come to little boysW'en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;"She says "we're a-itchin' for a right good spank."An' she says, "Now thes you wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,W'en a feller's itchin' fer a spank."
W'en us fellers stomp around, makin' lots o' noise,
Gramma says, "There's certain times come to little boys
W'en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;"
She says "we're a-itchin' for a right good spank."
An' she says, "Now thes you wait,
It's a-comin'—soon or late,
W'en a feller's itchin' fer a spank."
W'en a feller's out o' school, you know how he feels,Gramma says we wriggle 'roun' like a lot o' eels.W'y it's like a man that's thes home from out o' jail.What's the use o' scoldin' if we pull Tray's tail?Gramma says, tho', "Thes you wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,You'se the boys that's itchin' to be spanked."
W'en a feller's out o' school, you know how he feels,
Gramma says we wriggle 'roun' like a lot o' eels.
W'y it's like a man that's thes home from out o' jail.
What's the use o' scoldin' if we pull Tray's tail?
Gramma says, tho', "Thes you wait,
It's a-comin'—soon or late,
You'se the boys that's itchin' to be spanked."
Cats is funny creatures an' I like to make 'em yowl,Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowlAn' she says, "Young gentlemen, mamma should be thankedEf you'd get your knickerbockers right well spanked."An' she says, "Now thes you wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,"When a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
Cats is funny creatures an' I like to make 'em yowl,
Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowl
An' she says, "Young gentlemen, mamma should be thanked
Ef you'd get your knickerbockers right well spanked."
An' she says, "Now thes you wait,
It's a-comin'—soon or late,"
When a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
Ef you fin' the days is gettin' awful hot in schoolAn' you know a swimmin' place where it's nice and cool,Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin' full o' fish,Whose a-goin' to set around school and wish?'Tain't no use to hide your bait,It's a-comin,—soon or late,Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
Ef you fin' the days is gettin' awful hot in school
An' you know a swimmin' place where it's nice and cool,
Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin' full o' fish,
Whose a-goin' to set around school and wish?
'Tain't no use to hide your bait,
It's a-comin,—soon or late,
Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
Ol' folks know most ever'thing 'bout the world, I guess,Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less,But I alwus kind o' think it 'ud be as wellEf they wouldn't alwus have to up an' tell;We kids wish 'at they'd thes wait,It's a-comin'—soon or late,Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
Ol' folks know most ever'thing 'bout the world, I guess,
Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less,
But I alwus kind o' think it 'ud be as well
Ef they wouldn't alwus have to up an' tell;
We kids wish 'at they'd thes wait,
It's a-comin'—soon or late,
Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.
THE RIVER OF RUINAlong by the river of ruinThey dally—the thoughtless ones,They dance and they dreamBy the side of the stream,As long as the river runs.It seems all so pleasant and cheery—No thought of the morrow is theirs,And their faces are brightWith the sun of delight,And they dream of no night-brooding cares.The women wear garlanded tresses,The men have rings on their hands,And they sing in their glee,For they think they are free—They that know not the treacherous sands.Ah, but this be a venturesome journey,Forever those sands are ashift,And a step to one sideMeans a grasp of the tide,And the current is fearful and swift.For once in the river of ruin,What boots it, to do or to dare,For down we must goIn the turbulent flow,To the desolate sea of Despair.
Along by the river of ruinThey dally—the thoughtless ones,They dance and they dreamBy the side of the stream,As long as the river runs.
Along by the river of ruin
They dally—the thoughtless ones,
They dance and they dream
By the side of the stream,
As long as the river runs.
It seems all so pleasant and cheery—No thought of the morrow is theirs,And their faces are brightWith the sun of delight,And they dream of no night-brooding cares.
It seems all so pleasant and cheery—
No thought of the morrow is theirs,
And their faces are bright
With the sun of delight,
And they dream of no night-brooding cares.
The women wear garlanded tresses,The men have rings on their hands,And they sing in their glee,For they think they are free—They that know not the treacherous sands.
The women wear garlanded tresses,
The men have rings on their hands,
And they sing in their glee,
For they think they are free—
They that know not the treacherous sands.
Ah, but this be a venturesome journey,Forever those sands are ashift,And a step to one sideMeans a grasp of the tide,And the current is fearful and swift.
Ah, but this be a venturesome journey,
Forever those sands are ashift,
And a step to one side
Means a grasp of the tide,
And the current is fearful and swift.
For once in the river of ruin,What boots it, to do or to dare,For down we must goIn the turbulent flow,To the desolate sea of Despair.
For once in the river of ruin,
What boots it, to do or to dare,
For down we must go
In the turbulent flow,
To the desolate sea of Despair.
TO HERYour presence like a benison to meWakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy,I fancy that some old Arabian nightSaw you my houri and my heart's delight.And wandering forth beneath the passionate moon,Your love-strung zither and my soul in tune,We knew the joy, the haunting of the painThat like a flame thrills through me now again.To-night we sit where sweet the spice winds blow,A wind the northland lacks and ne'er shall know,With clasped hands and spirits all aglowAs in Arabia in the long ago.
Your presence like a benison to meWakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy,I fancy that some old Arabian nightSaw you my houri and my heart's delight.
Your presence like a benison to me
Wakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy,
I fancy that some old Arabian night
Saw you my houri and my heart's delight.
And wandering forth beneath the passionate moon,Your love-strung zither and my soul in tune,We knew the joy, the haunting of the painThat like a flame thrills through me now again.
And wandering forth beneath the passionate moon,
Your love-strung zither and my soul in tune,
We knew the joy, the haunting of the pain
That like a flame thrills through me now again.
To-night we sit where sweet the spice winds blow,A wind the northland lacks and ne'er shall know,With clasped hands and spirits all aglowAs in Arabia in the long ago.
To-night we sit where sweet the spice winds blow,
A wind the northland lacks and ne'er shall know,
With clasped hands and spirits all aglow
As in Arabia in the long ago.
A LOVE LETTEROh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal;Oh, my; oh, my.She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal:Oh, my; oh, my.She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true,She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too;An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do;Oh, my; oh, my.I got a man to read it an' he read it fine;Oh, my; oh, my.Dey ain' no use denying dat her love is mine;Oh, my; oh, my.But hyeah's de t'ing dat's puttin' me in such a awful plight,I t'ink of huh at mornin' an' I dream of huh at night;But how's I gwine to cou't huh w'en I do' know how to write?Oh, my; oh, my.My heaht is bubblin' ovah wid de t'ings I want to say;Oh, my; oh, my.An' dey's lots of folks to copy what I tell 'em fu' de pay;Oh, my; oh, my.But dey's t'ings dat I's a-t'inkin' dat is only fu' huh ears,An' I couldn't lu'n to write 'em ef I took a dozen years;So to go down daih an' tell huh is de only way, it 'pears;Oh, my; oh, my.
Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal;Oh, my; oh, my.She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal:Oh, my; oh, my.She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true,She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too;An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do;Oh, my; oh, my.
Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal;
Oh, my; oh, my.
She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal:
Oh, my; oh, my.
She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true,
She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too;
An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do;
Oh, my; oh, my.
I got a man to read it an' he read it fine;Oh, my; oh, my.Dey ain' no use denying dat her love is mine;Oh, my; oh, my.But hyeah's de t'ing dat's puttin' me in such a awful plight,I t'ink of huh at mornin' an' I dream of huh at night;But how's I gwine to cou't huh w'en I do' know how to write?Oh, my; oh, my.
I got a man to read it an' he read it fine;
Oh, my; oh, my.
Dey ain' no use denying dat her love is mine;
Oh, my; oh, my.
But hyeah's de t'ing dat's puttin' me in such a awful plight,
I t'ink of huh at mornin' an' I dream of huh at night;
But how's I gwine to cou't huh w'en I do' know how to write?
Oh, my; oh, my.
My heaht is bubblin' ovah wid de t'ings I want to say;Oh, my; oh, my.An' dey's lots of folks to copy what I tell 'em fu' de pay;Oh, my; oh, my.But dey's t'ings dat I's a-t'inkin' dat is only fu' huh ears,An' I couldn't lu'n to write 'em ef I took a dozen years;So to go down daih an' tell huh is de only way, it 'pears;Oh, my; oh, my.
My heaht is bubblin' ovah wid de t'ings I want to say;
Oh, my; oh, my.
An' dey's lots of folks to copy what I tell 'em fu' de pay;
Oh, my; oh, my.
But dey's t'ings dat I's a-t'inkin' dat is only fu' huh ears,
An' I couldn't lu'n to write 'em ef I took a dozen years;
So to go down daih an' tell huh is de only way, it 'pears;
Oh, my; oh, my.
AFTER MANY DAYSI've always been a faithful manAn' tried to live for duty,But the stringent mode of lifeHas somewhat lost its beauty.The story of the generous breadHe sent upon the waters,Which after many days returnsTo trusting sons and daughters,Had oft impressed me, so I wantMy soul influenced by it,And bought a loaf of bread and soughtA stream where I could try it.I cast my bread upon the wavesAnd fancied then to await it;It had not floated far awayWhen a fish came up and ate it.And if I want both fish and bread,And surely both I'm wanting,About the only way I seeIs for me to go fishing.
I've always been a faithful manAn' tried to live for duty,But the stringent mode of lifeHas somewhat lost its beauty.
I've always been a faithful man
An' tried to live for duty,
But the stringent mode of life
Has somewhat lost its beauty.
The story of the generous breadHe sent upon the waters,Which after many days returnsTo trusting sons and daughters,
The story of the generous bread
He sent upon the waters,
Which after many days returns
To trusting sons and daughters,
Had oft impressed me, so I wantMy soul influenced by it,And bought a loaf of bread and soughtA stream where I could try it.
Had oft impressed me, so I want
My soul influenced by it,
And bought a loaf of bread and sought
A stream where I could try it.
I cast my bread upon the wavesAnd fancied then to await it;It had not floated far awayWhen a fish came up and ate it.
I cast my bread upon the waves
And fancied then to await it;
It had not floated far away
When a fish came up and ate it.
And if I want both fish and bread,And surely both I'm wanting,About the only way I seeIs for me to go fishing.
And if I want both fish and bread,
And surely both I'm wanting,
About the only way I see
Is for me to go fishing.
LIZA MAYLittle brown face full of smiles,And a baby's guileless wiles,Liza May, Liza May.Eyes a-peeping thro' the fenceWith an interest intense,Liza May.Ah, the gate is just ajar,And the meadow is not far,Liza May, Liza May.And the road feels very sweet,To your little toddling feet,Liza May.Ah, you roguish runaway,What will toiling mother say,Liza May, Liza May?What care you who smile to greetEveryone you chance to meet,Liza May?Soft the mill-race sings its song,Just a little way along,Liza May, Liza May.But the song is full of guile,Turn, ah turn, your steps the while,Liza May.You have caught the gleam and glowWhere the darkling waters flow,Liza May, Liza May.Flash of ripple, bend of bough,Where are all the angels now?Liza May.Now a mother's eyes intenseGazing o'er a shabby fence,Liza May, Liza May.Then a mother's anguished facePeering all around the place,Liza May.Hear the agonizing callFor a mother's all in all,Liza May, Liza May.Hear a mother's maddened prayerTo the calm unanswering air,Liza May.What's become of—Liza May?What has darkened all the day?Liza May, Liza May.Ask the waters dark and fleet,If they know the smiling, sweetLiza May.Call her, call her as you will,On the meadow, on the hill,Liza May, Liza May.Through the brush or beaten trackEcho only gives you back,Liza May.Ah, but you were loving—sweet,On your little toddling feet,Liza May, Liza May.But through all the coming years,Must a mother breathe with tears,Liza May.
Little brown face full of smiles,And a baby's guileless wiles,Liza May, Liza May.
Little brown face full of smiles,
And a baby's guileless wiles,
Liza May, Liza May.
Eyes a-peeping thro' the fenceWith an interest intense,Liza May.
Eyes a-peeping thro' the fence
With an interest intense,
Liza May.
Ah, the gate is just ajar,And the meadow is not far,Liza May, Liza May.
Ah, the gate is just ajar,
And the meadow is not far,
Liza May, Liza May.
And the road feels very sweet,To your little toddling feet,Liza May.
And the road feels very sweet,
To your little toddling feet,
Liza May.
Ah, you roguish runaway,What will toiling mother say,Liza May, Liza May?
Ah, you roguish runaway,
What will toiling mother say,
Liza May, Liza May?
What care you who smile to greetEveryone you chance to meet,Liza May?
What care you who smile to greet
Everyone you chance to meet,
Liza May?
Soft the mill-race sings its song,Just a little way along,Liza May, Liza May.
Soft the mill-race sings its song,
Just a little way along,
Liza May, Liza May.
But the song is full of guile,Turn, ah turn, your steps the while,Liza May.
But the song is full of guile,
Turn, ah turn, your steps the while,
Liza May.
You have caught the gleam and glowWhere the darkling waters flow,Liza May, Liza May.
You have caught the gleam and glow
Where the darkling waters flow,
Liza May, Liza May.
Flash of ripple, bend of bough,Where are all the angels now?Liza May.
Flash of ripple, bend of bough,
Where are all the angels now?
Liza May.
Now a mother's eyes intenseGazing o'er a shabby fence,Liza May, Liza May.
Now a mother's eyes intense
Gazing o'er a shabby fence,
Liza May, Liza May.
Then a mother's anguished facePeering all around the place,Liza May.
Then a mother's anguished face
Peering all around the place,
Liza May.
Hear the agonizing callFor a mother's all in all,Liza May, Liza May.
Hear the agonizing call
For a mother's all in all,
Liza May, Liza May.
Hear a mother's maddened prayerTo the calm unanswering air,Liza May.
Hear a mother's maddened prayer
To the calm unanswering air,
Liza May.
What's become of—Liza May?What has darkened all the day?Liza May, Liza May.
What's become of—Liza May?
What has darkened all the day?
Liza May, Liza May.
Ask the waters dark and fleet,If they know the smiling, sweetLiza May.
Ask the waters dark and fleet,
If they know the smiling, sweet
Liza May.
Call her, call her as you will,On the meadow, on the hill,Liza May, Liza May.
Call her, call her as you will,
On the meadow, on the hill,
Liza May, Liza May.
Through the brush or beaten trackEcho only gives you back,Liza May.
Through the brush or beaten track
Echo only gives you back,
Liza May.
Ah, but you were loving—sweet,On your little toddling feet,Liza May, Liza May.
Ah, but you were loving—sweet,
On your little toddling feet,
Liza May, Liza May.
But through all the coming years,Must a mother breathe with tears,Liza May.
But through all the coming years,
Must a mother breathe with tears,
Liza May.
THE MASTERSOh, who is the Lord of the land of life,When hotly goes the fray?When, fierce we smile in the midst of strifeThen whom shall we obey?Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of lifeWho holds a monarch's sway;He wends with wish of maid and wife,And him you must obey.Then who is the Lord of the land of life,At setting of the sun?Whose word shall sway when Peace is rifeAnd all the fray is done?Then Death is the Lord of the land of life,When your hot race is run.Meet then his scythe and, pruning-knifeWhen the fray is lost or won.
Oh, who is the Lord of the land of life,When hotly goes the fray?When, fierce we smile in the midst of strifeThen whom shall we obey?
Oh, who is the Lord of the land of life,
When hotly goes the fray?
When, fierce we smile in the midst of strife
Then whom shall we obey?
Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of lifeWho holds a monarch's sway;He wends with wish of maid and wife,And him you must obey.
Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of life
Who holds a monarch's sway;
He wends with wish of maid and wife,
And him you must obey.
Then who is the Lord of the land of life,At setting of the sun?Whose word shall sway when Peace is rifeAnd all the fray is done?
Then who is the Lord of the land of life,
At setting of the sun?
Whose word shall sway when Peace is rife
And all the fray is done?
Then Death is the Lord of the land of life,When your hot race is run.Meet then his scythe and, pruning-knifeWhen the fray is lost or won.
Then Death is the Lord of the land of life,
When your hot race is run.
Meet then his scythe and, pruning-knife
When the fray is lost or won.
TROUBLE IN DE KITCHENDey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot;De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot.Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names,Wile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, po'in oil erpon de flames.De pot, hit called de skillet des a flat, disfiggered t'ing,An' de skillet 'plied dat all de pot could do was set an' sing,An' he 'lowed dat dey was 'lusions dat he wouldn't stoop to mek'Case he reckernize his juty, an' he had too much at steak.Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case his tempah gittin' highah,An' de skillet got to sputterin', den de fat was in de fiah.Mistah flan lay daih smokin' an' a-t'inkin' to hisse'f,Wile de peppah-box us nudgin' of de gingah on de she'f.Den dey all des lef hit to 'im, 'bout de trouble an' de talk;An' howevah he decided, w'y dey bofe 'u'd walk de chalk;But de fiah uz so 'sgusted how dey quoil an' dey shoutDat he cooled 'em off, I reckon, w'en he puffed an' des went out.
Dey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot;De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot.Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names,Wile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, po'in oil erpon de flames.
Dey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot;
De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot.
Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names,
Wile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, po'in oil erpon de flames.
De pot, hit called de skillet des a flat, disfiggered t'ing,An' de skillet 'plied dat all de pot could do was set an' sing,An' he 'lowed dat dey was 'lusions dat he wouldn't stoop to mek'Case he reckernize his juty, an' he had too much at steak.
De pot, hit called de skillet des a flat, disfiggered t'ing,
An' de skillet 'plied dat all de pot could do was set an' sing,
An' he 'lowed dat dey was 'lusions dat he wouldn't stoop to mek
'Case he reckernize his juty, an' he had too much at steak.
Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case his tempah gittin' highah,An' de skillet got to sputterin', den de fat was in de fiah.Mistah flan lay daih smokin' an' a-t'inkin' to hisse'f,Wile de peppah-box us nudgin' of de gingah on de she'f.
Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case his tempah gittin' highah,
An' de skillet got to sputterin', den de fat was in de fiah.
Mistah flan lay daih smokin' an' a-t'inkin' to hisse'f,
Wile de peppah-box us nudgin' of de gingah on de she'f.
Den dey all des lef hit to 'im, 'bout de trouble an' de talk;An' howevah he decided, w'y dey bofe 'u'd walk de chalk;But de fiah uz so 'sgusted how dey quoil an' dey shoutDat he cooled 'em off, I reckon, w'en he puffed an' des went out.
Den dey all des lef hit to 'im, 'bout de trouble an' de talk;
An' howevah he decided, w'y dey bofe 'u'd walk de chalk;
But de fiah uz so 'sgusted how dey quoil an' dey shout
Dat he cooled 'em off, I reckon, w'en he puffed an' des went out.
CHRISTMASStep wid de banjo an' glide wid de fiddle,Dis ain' no time fu' to pottah an' piddle:Fu' Christmas is comin', it's right on de way,An' dey's houahs to dance 'fo' de break o' de day.What if de win' is taihin' an' whistlin'?Look at dat' fiah how hit's spittin' an' bristlin'!Heat in de ashes an' heat in de cindahs,Ol' mistah Fros' kin des look thoo de windahs.Heat up de toddy an' pas' de wa'm glasses,Don' stop to shivah at blowin's an' blas'es,Keep on de kittle an' keep it a-hummin',Eat all an' drink all, dey's lots o' a-comin'.Look hyeah, Maria, don't open dat oven,Want all dese people a-pushin' an' shovin'?Res' f'om de dance? Yes, you done cotch dat odah,Mammy done cotch it, an' law! hit nigh flo'd huh;'Possum is monst'ous fu' mekin' folks fin' it!Come, draw yo' cheers up, I's sho' I do' min' it.Eat up dem critters, you men folks an' wimmens,'Possums ain' skace w'en dey's lots o' pu'simmons.
Step wid de banjo an' glide wid de fiddle,Dis ain' no time fu' to pottah an' piddle:Fu' Christmas is comin', it's right on de way,An' dey's houahs to dance 'fo' de break o' de day.
Step wid de banjo an' glide wid de fiddle,
Dis ain' no time fu' to pottah an' piddle:
Fu' Christmas is comin', it's right on de way,
An' dey's houahs to dance 'fo' de break o' de day.
What if de win' is taihin' an' whistlin'?Look at dat' fiah how hit's spittin' an' bristlin'!Heat in de ashes an' heat in de cindahs,Ol' mistah Fros' kin des look thoo de windahs.
What if de win' is taihin' an' whistlin'?
Look at dat' fiah how hit's spittin' an' bristlin'!
Heat in de ashes an' heat in de cindahs,
Ol' mistah Fros' kin des look thoo de windahs.
Heat up de toddy an' pas' de wa'm glasses,Don' stop to shivah at blowin's an' blas'es,Keep on de kittle an' keep it a-hummin',Eat all an' drink all, dey's lots o' a-comin'.Look hyeah, Maria, don't open dat oven,Want all dese people a-pushin' an' shovin'?
Heat up de toddy an' pas' de wa'm glasses,
Don' stop to shivah at blowin's an' blas'es,
Keep on de kittle an' keep it a-hummin',
Eat all an' drink all, dey's lots o' a-comin'.
Look hyeah, Maria, don't open dat oven,
Want all dese people a-pushin' an' shovin'?
Res' f'om de dance? Yes, you done cotch dat odah,Mammy done cotch it, an' law! hit nigh flo'd huh;'Possum is monst'ous fu' mekin' folks fin' it!Come, draw yo' cheers up, I's sho' I do' min' it.Eat up dem critters, you men folks an' wimmens,'Possums ain' skace w'en dey's lots o' pu'simmons.
Res' f'om de dance? Yes, you done cotch dat odah,
Mammy done cotch it, an' law! hit nigh flo'd huh;
'Possum is monst'ous fu' mekin' folks fin' it!
Come, draw yo' cheers up, I's sho' I do' min' it.
Eat up dem critters, you men folks an' wimmens,
'Possums ain' skace w'en dey's lots o' pu'simmons.
ROSES AND PEARLSYour spoken words are roses fine and sweet,The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound.How lavish nature is about your feet,To scatter flowers and jewels both around.Blushing the stream of petal beauty flows,Softly the white strings trickle down and shine.Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose.Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine.
Your spoken words are roses fine and sweet,The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound.How lavish nature is about your feet,To scatter flowers and jewels both around.
Your spoken words are roses fine and sweet,
The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound.
How lavish nature is about your feet,
To scatter flowers and jewels both around.
Blushing the stream of petal beauty flows,Softly the white strings trickle down and shine.Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose.Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine.
Blushing the stream of petal beauty flows,
Softly the white strings trickle down and shine.
Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose.
Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine.
RAIN-SONGSThe rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by;And ever as he sings his low refrain,He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by;And ever as he sings his low refrain,He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;
The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by;
And ever as he sings his low refrain,
He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
A LOST DREAMAh, I have changed, I do not knowWhy lonely hours affect me so.In days of yore, this were not wont,No loneliness my soul could daunt.For me too serious for my age,The weighty tome of hoary sage,Until with puzzled heart astir,One God-giv'n night, I dreamed of her.I loved no woman, hardly knewMore of the sex that strong men wooThan cloistered monk within his cell;But now the dream is lost, and hellHolds me her captive tight and fastWho prays and struggles for the past.No living maid has charmed my eyes,But now, my soul is wonder-wise.For I have dreamed of her and seenHer red-brown tresses' ruddy sheen,Have known her sweetness, lip to lip,The joy of her companionship.When days were bleak and winds were rude,She shared my smiling solitude,And all the bare hills walked with meTo hearken winter's melody.And when the spring came o'er the landWe fared together hand in handBeneath the linden's leafy screenThat waved above us faintly green.In summer, by the river-side,Our souls were kindred with the tideThat floated onward to the seaAs we swept toward Eternity.The bird's call and the water's droneWere all for us and us alone.The water-fall that sang all nightWas her companion, my delight,And e'en the squirrel, as he spedAlong the branches overhead,Half kindly and half envious,Would chatter at the joy of us.'Twas but a dream, her face, her hair,The spring-time sweet, the winter bare,The summer when the woods we ranged,—'Twas but a dream, but all is changed.Yes, all is changed and all has fled,The dream is broken, shattered, dead.And yet, sometimes, I pray to knowHow just a dream could hold me so.
Ah, I have changed, I do not knowWhy lonely hours affect me so.In days of yore, this were not wont,No loneliness my soul could daunt.
Ah, I have changed, I do not know
Why lonely hours affect me so.
In days of yore, this were not wont,
No loneliness my soul could daunt.
For me too serious for my age,The weighty tome of hoary sage,Until with puzzled heart astir,One God-giv'n night, I dreamed of her.
For me too serious for my age,
The weighty tome of hoary sage,
Until with puzzled heart astir,
One God-giv'n night, I dreamed of her.
I loved no woman, hardly knewMore of the sex that strong men wooThan cloistered monk within his cell;But now the dream is lost, and hell
I loved no woman, hardly knew
More of the sex that strong men woo
Than cloistered monk within his cell;
But now the dream is lost, and hell
Holds me her captive tight and fastWho prays and struggles for the past.No living maid has charmed my eyes,But now, my soul is wonder-wise.
Holds me her captive tight and fast
Who prays and struggles for the past.
No living maid has charmed my eyes,
But now, my soul is wonder-wise.
For I have dreamed of her and seenHer red-brown tresses' ruddy sheen,Have known her sweetness, lip to lip,The joy of her companionship.
For I have dreamed of her and seen
Her red-brown tresses' ruddy sheen,
Have known her sweetness, lip to lip,
The joy of her companionship.
When days were bleak and winds were rude,She shared my smiling solitude,And all the bare hills walked with meTo hearken winter's melody.
When days were bleak and winds were rude,
She shared my smiling solitude,
And all the bare hills walked with me
To hearken winter's melody.
And when the spring came o'er the landWe fared together hand in handBeneath the linden's leafy screenThat waved above us faintly green.
And when the spring came o'er the land
We fared together hand in hand
Beneath the linden's leafy screen
That waved above us faintly green.
In summer, by the river-side,Our souls were kindred with the tideThat floated onward to the seaAs we swept toward Eternity.
In summer, by the river-side,
Our souls were kindred with the tide
That floated onward to the sea
As we swept toward Eternity.
The bird's call and the water's droneWere all for us and us alone.The water-fall that sang all nightWas her companion, my delight,
The bird's call and the water's drone
Were all for us and us alone.
The water-fall that sang all night
Was her companion, my delight,
And e'en the squirrel, as he spedAlong the branches overhead,Half kindly and half envious,Would chatter at the joy of us.
And e'en the squirrel, as he sped
Along the branches overhead,
Half kindly and half envious,
Would chatter at the joy of us.
'Twas but a dream, her face, her hair,The spring-time sweet, the winter bare,The summer when the woods we ranged,—'Twas but a dream, but all is changed.
'Twas but a dream, her face, her hair,
The spring-time sweet, the winter bare,
The summer when the woods we ranged,—
'Twas but a dream, but all is changed.
Yes, all is changed and all has fled,The dream is broken, shattered, dead.And yet, sometimes, I pray to knowHow just a dream could hold me so.
Yes, all is changed and all has fled,
The dream is broken, shattered, dead.
And yet, sometimes, I pray to know
How just a dream could hold me so.
A SONGThou art the soul of a summer's day,Thou art the breath of the rose.But the summer is fledAnd the rose is deadWhere are they gone, who knows, who knows?Thou art the blood of my heart o' hearts,Thou art my soul's repose,But my heart grows numbAnd my soul is dumbWhere art thou, love, who knows, who knows?Thou art the hope of my after years—Sun for my winter snowsBut the years go by'Neath a clouded sky.Where shall we meet, who knows, Who knows?
Thou art the soul of a summer's day,Thou art the breath of the rose.But the summer is fledAnd the rose is deadWhere are they gone, who knows, who knows?
Thou art the soul of a summer's day,
Thou art the breath of the rose.
But the summer is fled
And the rose is dead
Where are they gone, who knows, who knows?
Thou art the blood of my heart o' hearts,Thou art my soul's repose,But my heart grows numbAnd my soul is dumbWhere art thou, love, who knows, who knows?
Thou art the blood of my heart o' hearts,
Thou art my soul's repose,
But my heart grows numb
And my soul is dumb
Where art thou, love, who knows, who knows?
Thou art the hope of my after years—Sun for my winter snowsBut the years go by'Neath a clouded sky.Where shall we meet, who knows, Who knows?
Thou art the hope of my after years—
Sun for my winter snows
But the years go by
'Neath a clouded sky.
Where shall we meet, who knows, Who knows?
THE CAPTUREDuck come switchin' 'cross de lotHi, oh, Miss Lady!Hurry up an' hide de potHi, oh, Miss Lady!Duck's a mighty 'spicious fowl,Slick as snake an' wise as owl;Hol' dat dog, don't let him yowl!Hi, oh, Miss Lady!Th'ow dat co'n out kind o' slowHi, oh, Miss Lady!Keep yo'se'f behin' de do'Hi, oh, Miss Lady!Lots o' food'll kill his feah,Co'n is cheap but fowls is deah—"Come, good ducky, come on heah."Hi, oh, Miss Lady!Ain't he fat and ain't he fine,Hi, oh, Miss Lady!Des can't wait to make him mine.Hi, oh, Miss Lady!See him waddle when he walk,'Sh! keep still and don't you talk!Got you! Don't you daih to squawk!Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Duck come switchin' 'cross de lotHi, oh, Miss Lady!Hurry up an' hide de potHi, oh, Miss Lady!Duck's a mighty 'spicious fowl,Slick as snake an' wise as owl;Hol' dat dog, don't let him yowl!Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Duck come switchin' 'cross de lot
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Hurry up an' hide de pot
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Duck's a mighty 'spicious fowl,
Slick as snake an' wise as owl;
Hol' dat dog, don't let him yowl!
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Th'ow dat co'n out kind o' slowHi, oh, Miss Lady!Keep yo'se'f behin' de do'Hi, oh, Miss Lady!Lots o' food'll kill his feah,Co'n is cheap but fowls is deah—"Come, good ducky, come on heah."Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Th'ow dat co'n out kind o' slow
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Keep yo'se'f behin' de do'
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Lots o' food'll kill his feah,
Co'n is cheap but fowls is deah—
"Come, good ducky, come on heah."
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Ain't he fat and ain't he fine,Hi, oh, Miss Lady!Des can't wait to make him mine.Hi, oh, Miss Lady!See him waddle when he walk,'Sh! keep still and don't you talk!Got you! Don't you daih to squawk!Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Ain't he fat and ain't he fine,
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
Des can't wait to make him mine.
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
See him waddle when he walk,
'Sh! keep still and don't you talk!
Got you! Don't you daih to squawk!
Hi, oh, Miss Lady!
WHEN WINTER DARKENING ALL AROUNDWhen winter covering all the groundHides every sign of Spring, sir.However you may look around,Pray what will then you sing, sir?The Spring was here last year I know,And many bards did flute, sir;I shall not fear a little snowForbid me from my lute, sir.If words grow dull and rhymes grow rare,I'll sing of Spring's farewell, sir.For every season steals an air,Which has a Springtime smell, sir.But if upon the other side,With passionate longing burning,Will seek the half unjeweled tide,And sing of Spring's returning.
When winter covering all the groundHides every sign of Spring, sir.However you may look around,Pray what will then you sing, sir?
When winter covering all the ground
Hides every sign of Spring, sir.
However you may look around,
Pray what will then you sing, sir?
The Spring was here last year I know,And many bards did flute, sir;I shall not fear a little snowForbid me from my lute, sir.
The Spring was here last year I know,
And many bards did flute, sir;
I shall not fear a little snow
Forbid me from my lute, sir.
If words grow dull and rhymes grow rare,I'll sing of Spring's farewell, sir.For every season steals an air,Which has a Springtime smell, sir.
If words grow dull and rhymes grow rare,
I'll sing of Spring's farewell, sir.
For every season steals an air,
Which has a Springtime smell, sir.
But if upon the other side,With passionate longing burning,Will seek the half unjeweled tide,And sing of Spring's returning.
But if upon the other side,
With passionate longing burning,
Will seek the half unjeweled tide,
And sing of Spring's returning.
FROM THE PORCH AT RUNNYMEDEI stand above the city's rush and din,And gaze far down with calm and undimmed eyes,To where the misty smoke wreath grey and dimAbove the myriad roofs and spires rise;Still is my heart and vacant is my breath—This lovely view is breath and life to me,Why I could charm the icy soul of deathWith such a sight as this I stand and see.I hear no sound of labor's din or stir,I feel no weight of worldly cares or fears,Sweet song of birds, of wings the soothing whirr,These sounds alone assail my listening ears.Unwhipt of conscience here I stand alone,The breezes humbly kiss my garment's hem;I am a king—the whole world is my throne,The blue grey sky my royal diadem.
I stand above the city's rush and din,And gaze far down with calm and undimmed eyes,To where the misty smoke wreath grey and dimAbove the myriad roofs and spires rise;
I stand above the city's rush and din,
And gaze far down with calm and undimmed eyes,
To where the misty smoke wreath grey and dim
Above the myriad roofs and spires rise;
Still is my heart and vacant is my breath—This lovely view is breath and life to me,Why I could charm the icy soul of deathWith such a sight as this I stand and see.
Still is my heart and vacant is my breath—
This lovely view is breath and life to me,
Why I could charm the icy soul of death
With such a sight as this I stand and see.
I hear no sound of labor's din or stir,I feel no weight of worldly cares or fears,Sweet song of birds, of wings the soothing whirr,These sounds alone assail my listening ears.
I hear no sound of labor's din or stir,
I feel no weight of worldly cares or fears,
Sweet song of birds, of wings the soothing whirr,
These sounds alone assail my listening ears.
Unwhipt of conscience here I stand alone,The breezes humbly kiss my garment's hem;I am a king—the whole world is my throne,The blue grey sky my royal diadem.
Unwhipt of conscience here I stand alone,
The breezes humbly kiss my garment's hem;
I am a king—the whole world is my throne,
The blue grey sky my royal diadem.
EQUIPMENTWith what thou gavest me, O Master,I have wrought.Such chances, such abilities,To see the end was not for my poor eyes,Thine was the impulse, thine the forming thought.Ah, I have wrought,And these sad hands have right to tell their story,It was no hard up striving after glory,Catching and losing, gaining and failing,Raging me back at the world's raucous railing.Simply and humbly from stone and from wood,Wrought I the things that to thee might seem good.If they are little, ah God! but the cost,Who but thou knowest the all that is lost!If they are few, is the workmanship true?Try them and weigh me, whate'er be my due!
With what thou gavest me, O Master,I have wrought.Such chances, such abilities,To see the end was not for my poor eyes,Thine was the impulse, thine the forming thought.
With what thou gavest me, O Master,
I have wrought.
Such chances, such abilities,
To see the end was not for my poor eyes,
Thine was the impulse, thine the forming thought.
Ah, I have wrought,And these sad hands have right to tell their story,It was no hard up striving after glory,Catching and losing, gaining and failing,Raging me back at the world's raucous railing.Simply and humbly from stone and from wood,Wrought I the things that to thee might seem good.
Ah, I have wrought,
And these sad hands have right to tell their story,
It was no hard up striving after glory,
Catching and losing, gaining and failing,
Raging me back at the world's raucous railing.
Simply and humbly from stone and from wood,
Wrought I the things that to thee might seem good.
If they are little, ah God! but the cost,Who but thou knowest the all that is lost!If they are few, is the workmanship true?Try them and weigh me, whate'er be my due!
If they are little, ah God! but the cost,
Who but thou knowest the all that is lost!
If they are few, is the workmanship true?
Try them and weigh me, whate'er be my due!
EVENINGThe moon begins her stately rideAcross the summer sky;The happy wavelets lash the shore,—The tide is rising high.Beneath some friendly blade of grassThe lazy beetle cowers;The coffers of the air are filledWith offerings from the flowers.And slowly buzzing o'er my headA swallow wings her flight;I hear the weary plowman singAs falls the restful night.
The moon begins her stately rideAcross the summer sky;The happy wavelets lash the shore,—The tide is rising high.
The moon begins her stately ride
Across the summer sky;
The happy wavelets lash the shore,—
The tide is rising high.
Beneath some friendly blade of grassThe lazy beetle cowers;The coffers of the air are filledWith offerings from the flowers.
Beneath some friendly blade of grass
The lazy beetle cowers;
The coffers of the air are filled
With offerings from the flowers.
And slowly buzzing o'er my headA swallow wings her flight;I hear the weary plowman singAs falls the restful night.
And slowly buzzing o'er my head
A swallow wings her flight;
I hear the weary plowman sing
As falls the restful night.
TO PFRIMMER(Lines on reading "Driftwood.")Driftwood gathered here and thereAlong the beach of time;Now and then a chip of truth'Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;Driftwood gathered day by day,—The cypress and the oak,—Twigs that in some former timeFrom sturdy home trees broke.Did this wood come floating thickAll along down "Injin Crik?"Or did kind tides bring it theeFrom the past's receding seaDown the stream of memory?
(Lines on reading "Driftwood.")
(Lines on reading "Driftwood.")
Driftwood gathered here and thereAlong the beach of time;Now and then a chip of truth'Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;Driftwood gathered day by day,—The cypress and the oak,—Twigs that in some former timeFrom sturdy home trees broke.Did this wood come floating thickAll along down "Injin Crik?"Or did kind tides bring it theeFrom the past's receding seaDown the stream of memory?
Driftwood gathered here and there
Along the beach of time;
Now and then a chip of truth
'Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;
Driftwood gathered day by day,—
The cypress and the oak,—
Twigs that in some former time
From sturdy home trees broke.
Did this wood come floating thick
All along down "Injin Crik?"
Or did kind tides bring it thee
From the past's receding sea
Down the stream of memory?
TO THE MIAMIKiss me, Miami, thou most constant one!I love thee more for that thou changest not.When Winter comes with frigid blast,Or when the blithesome Spring is pastAnd Summer's here with sunshine hot,Or in sere Autumn, thou has still the pow'rTo charm alike, whate'er the hour.Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy lips;Throbs fast my heart e'en as thine own breast beats.My soul doth rise as rise thy waves,As each on each the dark shore lavesAnd breaks in ripples and retreats.There is a poem in thine every phase;Thou still has sung through all thy days.Tell me, Miami, how it was with theeWhen years ago Tecumseh in his primeHis birch boat o'er thy waters sent,And pitched upon thy banks his tent.In that long-gone, poetic time,Did some bronze bard thy flowing stream sit byAnd sing thy praises, e'en as I?Did some bronze lover 'neath this dark old treeWhisper of love unto his Indian maid?And didst thou list his murmurs deep,And in thy bosom safely keepThe many raging vows they said?Or didst thou tell to fish and frog and birdThe raptured scenes that there occurred?But, O dear stream, what volumes thou couldst tellTo all who know thy language as I do,Of life and love and jealous hate!But now to tattle were too late,—Thou who hast ever been so true.Tell not to every passing idler hereAll those sweet tales that reached thine ear.But, silent stream, speak out and tell me this:I say that men and things are still the same;Were men as bold to do and dare?Were women then as true and fair?Did poets seek celestial flame,The hero die to gain a laureled brow,And women suffer, then as now?
Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one!I love thee more for that thou changest not.When Winter comes with frigid blast,Or when the blithesome Spring is pastAnd Summer's here with sunshine hot,Or in sere Autumn, thou has still the pow'rTo charm alike, whate'er the hour.
Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one!
I love thee more for that thou changest not.
When Winter comes with frigid blast,
Or when the blithesome Spring is past
And Summer's here with sunshine hot,
Or in sere Autumn, thou has still the pow'r
To charm alike, whate'er the hour.
Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy lips;Throbs fast my heart e'en as thine own breast beats.My soul doth rise as rise thy waves,As each on each the dark shore lavesAnd breaks in ripples and retreats.There is a poem in thine every phase;Thou still has sung through all thy days.
Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy lips;
Throbs fast my heart e'en as thine own breast beats.
My soul doth rise as rise thy waves,
As each on each the dark shore laves
And breaks in ripples and retreats.
There is a poem in thine every phase;
Thou still has sung through all thy days.
Tell me, Miami, how it was with theeWhen years ago Tecumseh in his primeHis birch boat o'er thy waters sent,And pitched upon thy banks his tent.In that long-gone, poetic time,Did some bronze bard thy flowing stream sit byAnd sing thy praises, e'en as I?
Tell me, Miami, how it was with thee
When years ago Tecumseh in his prime
His birch boat o'er thy waters sent,
And pitched upon thy banks his tent.
In that long-gone, poetic time,
Did some bronze bard thy flowing stream sit by
And sing thy praises, e'en as I?
Did some bronze lover 'neath this dark old treeWhisper of love unto his Indian maid?And didst thou list his murmurs deep,And in thy bosom safely keepThe many raging vows they said?Or didst thou tell to fish and frog and birdThe raptured scenes that there occurred?
Did some bronze lover 'neath this dark old tree
Whisper of love unto his Indian maid?
And didst thou list his murmurs deep,
And in thy bosom safely keep
The many raging vows they said?
Or didst thou tell to fish and frog and bird
The raptured scenes that there occurred?
But, O dear stream, what volumes thou couldst tellTo all who know thy language as I do,Of life and love and jealous hate!But now to tattle were too late,—Thou who hast ever been so true.Tell not to every passing idler hereAll those sweet tales that reached thine ear.
But, O dear stream, what volumes thou couldst tell
To all who know thy language as I do,
Of life and love and jealous hate!
But now to tattle were too late,—
Thou who hast ever been so true.
Tell not to every passing idler here
All those sweet tales that reached thine ear.
But, silent stream, speak out and tell me this:I say that men and things are still the same;Were men as bold to do and dare?Were women then as true and fair?Did poets seek celestial flame,The hero die to gain a laureled brow,And women suffer, then as now?
But, silent stream, speak out and tell me this:
I say that men and things are still the same;
Were men as bold to do and dare?
Were women then as true and fair?
Did poets seek celestial flame,
The hero die to gain a laureled brow,
And women suffer, then as now?
CHRISTMAS CAROLRing out, ye bells!All Nature swellsWith gladness at the wondrous story,—The world was lorn,But Christ is bornTo change our sadness into glory.Sing, earthlings, sing!To-night a KingHath come from heaven's high throne to bless us.The outstretched handO'er all the landIs raised in pity to caress us.Come at his call;Be joyful all;Away with mourning and with sadness!The heavenly choirWith holy fireTheir voices raise in songs of gladness.The darkness breaksAnd Dawn awakes,Her cheeks suffused with youthful blushes.The rocks and stonesIn holy tonesAre singing sweeter than the thrushes.Then why should weIn silence be,When Nature lends her voice to praises;When heaven and earthProclaim the truthOf Him for whom that lone star blazes?No, be not still,But with a willStrike all your harps and set them ringing;On hill and heathLet every breathThrow all its power into singing!
Ring out, ye bells!All Nature swellsWith gladness at the wondrous story,—The world was lorn,But Christ is bornTo change our sadness into glory.
Ring out, ye bells!
All Nature swells
With gladness at the wondrous story,—
The world was lorn,
But Christ is born
To change our sadness into glory.
Sing, earthlings, sing!To-night a KingHath come from heaven's high throne to bless us.The outstretched handO'er all the landIs raised in pity to caress us.
Sing, earthlings, sing!
To-night a King
Hath come from heaven's high throne to bless us.
The outstretched hand
O'er all the land
Is raised in pity to caress us.
Come at his call;Be joyful all;Away with mourning and with sadness!The heavenly choirWith holy fireTheir voices raise in songs of gladness.
Come at his call;
Be joyful all;
Away with mourning and with sadness!
The heavenly choir
With holy fire
Their voices raise in songs of gladness.
The darkness breaksAnd Dawn awakes,Her cheeks suffused with youthful blushes.The rocks and stonesIn holy tonesAre singing sweeter than the thrushes.
The darkness breaks
And Dawn awakes,
Her cheeks suffused with youthful blushes.
The rocks and stones
In holy tones
Are singing sweeter than the thrushes.
Then why should weIn silence be,When Nature lends her voice to praises;When heaven and earthProclaim the truthOf Him for whom that lone star blazes?
Then why should we
In silence be,
When Nature lends her voice to praises;
When heaven and earth
Proclaim the truth
Of Him for whom that lone star blazes?
No, be not still,But with a willStrike all your harps and set them ringing;On hill and heathLet every breathThrow all its power into singing!
No, be not still,
But with a will
Strike all your harps and set them ringing;
On hill and heath
Let every breath
Throw all its power into singing!
A SUMMER PASTORALIt's hot to-day. The bees is buzzin'Kinder don't-keer-like aroun'An' fur off the warm air dancesO'er the parchin' roofs in town.In the brook the cows is standin';Childern hidin' in the hay;Can't keep none of 'em a workin','Cause it's hot to-day.It's hot to-day. The sun is blazin'Like a great big ball o' fire;Seems as ef instead o' settin'It keeps mountin' higher an' higher.I'm as triflin' as the children,Though I blame them lots an' scold;I keep slippin' to the spring-house,Where the milk is rich an' cold.The very air within its shadderSmells o' cool an' restful things,An' a roguish little robinSits above the place an' sings.I don't mean to be a shirkin',But I linger by the wayLonger, mebbe, than is needful,'Cause it's hot to-day.It's hot to-day. The horses stumbleHalf asleep across the fiel's;An' a host o' teasin' fanciesO'er my burnin' senses steals,—Dreams o' cool rooms, curtains lowered,An' a sofy's temptin' look;Patter o' composin' raindropsOr the ripple of a brook.I strike a stump! That wakes me sudden;Dreams all vanish into air.Lordy! how I chew my whiskers;'Twouldn't do fur me to swear.But I have to be so keerful'Bout my thoughts an' what I say;Somethin' might slip out unheeded,'Cause it's hot to-day.Git up, there, Suke! you, Sal, git over!Sakes alive! how I do sweat.Every stitch that I've got on me,Bet a cent, is wringin' wet.If this keeps up, I'll lose my temper.Gee there, Sal, you lazy brute!Wonder who on airth this weatherCould 'a' be'n got up to suit?You, Sam, go bring a tin o' water;Dash it all, don't be so slow!'Pears as ef you tuk an hour'Tween each step to stop an' blow.Think I want to stand a meltin'Out here in this b'ilin' sun,While you stop to think about it?Lift them feet o' your'n an' run.It ain't no use; I'm plumb fetaggled.Come an' put this team away.I won't plow another furrer;It's too mortal hot to-day.I ain't weak, nor I ain't lazy,But I'll stand this half day's loss'Fore I let the devil make meLose my patience an' git cross.
It's hot to-day. The bees is buzzin'Kinder don't-keer-like aroun'An' fur off the warm air dancesO'er the parchin' roofs in town.In the brook the cows is standin';Childern hidin' in the hay;Can't keep none of 'em a workin','Cause it's hot to-day.
It's hot to-day. The bees is buzzin'
Kinder don't-keer-like aroun'
An' fur off the warm air dances
O'er the parchin' roofs in town.
In the brook the cows is standin';
Childern hidin' in the hay;
Can't keep none of 'em a workin',
'Cause it's hot to-day.
It's hot to-day. The sun is blazin'Like a great big ball o' fire;Seems as ef instead o' settin'It keeps mountin' higher an' higher.I'm as triflin' as the children,Though I blame them lots an' scold;I keep slippin' to the spring-house,Where the milk is rich an' cold.
It's hot to-day. The sun is blazin'
Like a great big ball o' fire;
Seems as ef instead o' settin'
It keeps mountin' higher an' higher.
I'm as triflin' as the children,
Though I blame them lots an' scold;
I keep slippin' to the spring-house,
Where the milk is rich an' cold.
The very air within its shadderSmells o' cool an' restful things,An' a roguish little robinSits above the place an' sings.I don't mean to be a shirkin',But I linger by the wayLonger, mebbe, than is needful,'Cause it's hot to-day.
The very air within its shadder
Smells o' cool an' restful things,
An' a roguish little robin
Sits above the place an' sings.
I don't mean to be a shirkin',
But I linger by the way
Longer, mebbe, than is needful,
'Cause it's hot to-day.
It's hot to-day. The horses stumbleHalf asleep across the fiel's;An' a host o' teasin' fanciesO'er my burnin' senses steals,—Dreams o' cool rooms, curtains lowered,An' a sofy's temptin' look;Patter o' composin' raindropsOr the ripple of a brook.
It's hot to-day. The horses stumble
Half asleep across the fiel's;
An' a host o' teasin' fancies
O'er my burnin' senses steals,—
Dreams o' cool rooms, curtains lowered,
An' a sofy's temptin' look;
Patter o' composin' raindrops
Or the ripple of a brook.
I strike a stump! That wakes me sudden;Dreams all vanish into air.Lordy! how I chew my whiskers;'Twouldn't do fur me to swear.But I have to be so keerful'Bout my thoughts an' what I say;Somethin' might slip out unheeded,'Cause it's hot to-day.
I strike a stump! That wakes me sudden;
Dreams all vanish into air.
Lordy! how I chew my whiskers;
'Twouldn't do fur me to swear.
But I have to be so keerful
'Bout my thoughts an' what I say;
Somethin' might slip out unheeded,
'Cause it's hot to-day.
Git up, there, Suke! you, Sal, git over!Sakes alive! how I do sweat.Every stitch that I've got on me,Bet a cent, is wringin' wet.If this keeps up, I'll lose my temper.Gee there, Sal, you lazy brute!Wonder who on airth this weatherCould 'a' be'n got up to suit?
Git up, there, Suke! you, Sal, git over!
Sakes alive! how I do sweat.
Every stitch that I've got on me,
Bet a cent, is wringin' wet.
If this keeps up, I'll lose my temper.
Gee there, Sal, you lazy brute!
Wonder who on airth this weather
Could 'a' be'n got up to suit?
You, Sam, go bring a tin o' water;Dash it all, don't be so slow!'Pears as ef you tuk an hour'Tween each step to stop an' blow.Think I want to stand a meltin'Out here in this b'ilin' sun,While you stop to think about it?Lift them feet o' your'n an' run.
You, Sam, go bring a tin o' water;
Dash it all, don't be so slow!
'Pears as ef you tuk an hour
'Tween each step to stop an' blow.
Think I want to stand a meltin'
Out here in this b'ilin' sun,
While you stop to think about it?
Lift them feet o' your'n an' run.
It ain't no use; I'm plumb fetaggled.Come an' put this team away.I won't plow another furrer;It's too mortal hot to-day.I ain't weak, nor I ain't lazy,But I'll stand this half day's loss'Fore I let the devil make meLose my patience an' git cross.
It ain't no use; I'm plumb fetaggled.
Come an' put this team away.
I won't plow another furrer;
It's too mortal hot to-day.
I ain't weak, nor I ain't lazy,
But I'll stand this half day's loss
'Fore I let the devil make me
Lose my patience an' git cross.
IN SUMMER TIMEWhen summer time has come, and allThe world is in the magic thrallOf perfumed airs that lull each senseTo fits of drowsy indolence;When skies are deepest blue above,And flow'rs aflush,—then most I loveTo start, while early dews are damp,And wend my way in woodland trampWhere forests rustle, tree on tree,And sing their silent songs to me;Where pathways meet and path ways part,—To walk with Nature heart by heart,Till wearied out at last I lieWhere some sweet stream steals singing byA mossy bank; where violets vieIn color with the summer sky,—Or take my rod and line and hook,And wander to some darkling brook,Where all day long the willows dream,And idly droop to kiss the stream,And there to loll from morn till night—Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—Just for the joy of being thereAnd drinking in the summer air,The summer sounds, and summer sights,That set a restless mind to rightsWhen grief and pain and raging doubtOf men and creeds have worn it out;The birds' song and the water's drone,The humming bees' low monotone,The murmur of the passing breeze,And all the sounds akin to these,That make a man in summer timeFeel only fit for rest and rhyme.Joy springs all radiant in my breast;Though pauper poor, than king more blest,The tide beats in my soul so strongThat happiness breaks forth in song,And rings aloud the welkin blueWith all the songs I ever knew.O time of rapture! time of song!How swiftly glide thy days alongAdown the current of the years,Above the rocks of grief and tears!'Tis wealth enough of joy for meIn summer time to simply be.
When summer time has come, and allThe world is in the magic thrallOf perfumed airs that lull each senseTo fits of drowsy indolence;When skies are deepest blue above,And flow'rs aflush,—then most I loveTo start, while early dews are damp,And wend my way in woodland trampWhere forests rustle, tree on tree,And sing their silent songs to me;Where pathways meet and path ways part,—To walk with Nature heart by heart,Till wearied out at last I lieWhere some sweet stream steals singing byA mossy bank; where violets vieIn color with the summer sky,—Or take my rod and line and hook,And wander to some darkling brook,Where all day long the willows dream,And idly droop to kiss the stream,And there to loll from morn till night—Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—Just for the joy of being thereAnd drinking in the summer air,The summer sounds, and summer sights,That set a restless mind to rightsWhen grief and pain and raging doubtOf men and creeds have worn it out;The birds' song and the water's drone,The humming bees' low monotone,The murmur of the passing breeze,And all the sounds akin to these,That make a man in summer timeFeel only fit for rest and rhyme.Joy springs all radiant in my breast;Though pauper poor, than king more blest,The tide beats in my soul so strongThat happiness breaks forth in song,And rings aloud the welkin blueWith all the songs I ever knew.O time of rapture! time of song!How swiftly glide thy days alongAdown the current of the years,Above the rocks of grief and tears!'Tis wealth enough of joy for meIn summer time to simply be.
When summer time has come, and all
The world is in the magic thrall
Of perfumed airs that lull each sense
To fits of drowsy indolence;
When skies are deepest blue above,
And flow'rs aflush,—then most I love
To start, while early dews are damp,
And wend my way in woodland tramp
Where forests rustle, tree on tree,
And sing their silent songs to me;
Where pathways meet and path ways part,—
To walk with Nature heart by heart,
Till wearied out at last I lie
Where some sweet stream steals singing by
A mossy bank; where violets vie
In color with the summer sky,—
Or take my rod and line and hook,
And wander to some darkling brook,
Where all day long the willows dream,
And idly droop to kiss the stream,
And there to loll from morn till night—
Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—
Just for the joy of being there
And drinking in the summer air,
The summer sounds, and summer sights,
That set a restless mind to rights
When grief and pain and raging doubt
Of men and creeds have worn it out;
The birds' song and the water's drone,
The humming bees' low monotone,
The murmur of the passing breeze,
And all the sounds akin to these,
That make a man in summer time
Feel only fit for rest and rhyme.
Joy springs all radiant in my breast;
Though pauper poor, than king more blest,
The tide beats in my soul so strong
That happiness breaks forth in song,
And rings aloud the welkin blue
With all the songs I ever knew.
O time of rapture! time of song!
How swiftly glide thy days along
Adown the current of the years,
Above the rocks of grief and tears!
'Tis wealth enough of joy for me
In summer time to simply be.